


Direction

by moodyvalentinestories (moodyvalentine)



Category: Hollywood U: Rising Star, Red Carpet Diaries (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Victor being an absolutely disgusting person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 24,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24306925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodyvalentine/pseuds/moodyvalentinestories
Summary: The semester is over and Thomas Hunt can finally focus on himself and enjoy time away from the insanity Hollywood U offers on a daily basis—or so he thinks. Because just as he is on his way to sweet, sweet freedom, his least favourite former student decides to ruin it all for him.
Relationships: Thomas Hunt/Danielle Allen, Thomas Hunt/Main Character, Thomas Hunt/Main Character (Hollywood U)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Danielle is the HWU MC (Movie Star Major). Her backstory is basically the entirety of HWU, minus the Hunt dates. They have no romantic history at all... not yet, anyway.

To say that Thomas was relieved when he made his way from his office to the car without anyone speaking to him would have been an understatement. He wasn’t superstitious by any means, but he was almost convinced that this day – the last day of the semester – was cursed. Because not once, in the five and a half years he’d been teaching at Hollywood University, had this day gone well for him. The first semester, it had been a certain Professor Singh asking him to take over the Hollywood 101 course, which had led to many a headache and a not insignificant rise in his blood pressure. The second semester, he had found out that the building his office was in would undergo renovations, thus he would have to share an office with a colleague for the foreseeable future. When he was informed of a rather unfortunate incident involving a tank and several destroyed buildings at the end of the third semester, he wasn’t even surprised anymore. But today… today no one had given him any bad news at all. He was sitting in his car, key in the ignition, ready to leave and enjoy the time away from students insisting they deserved an A when they earned a B- at best. Then, just before he could turn the key, there was a knock on the window. _Shit_.

For a brief moment, Thomas considered ignoring whoever was going to tell him that the dean had resigned and would be replaced by Viktor Montmartre or whatever else terrible must have happened, but eventually decided to roll down the window and face whatever nightmare was waiting for him. When he looked at the person who had knocked, however, it wasn’t anyone he’d have expected. Perhaps he should have. After all, he did consider this day cursed, and if his least favourite former student of all time was ever going to visit him, today would be that day.

“Hey Hunt,” the young woman said, far too cheerfully for his liking. “What’s up?”

“It’s _Professor_ Hunt,” he corrected, “And I was on my way home, so if you were hoping to speak to me, I’m afraid I must disappoint you.”

Danielle – Thomas wished he could pretend he didn’t remember her name, but it was seemingly engraved into his mind ever since she had first entered his classroom – simply smiled and shrugged. “That’s okay, we can talk on the way.” Before he could fully process what she meant, she had rounded the car and opened the passenger door, planting herself on the seat next to him. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go.”

Thomas blinked – once, twice – and then turned to her slowly. “I’m not going anywhere until you get out of my car.”

“Fine,” Danielle sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’ll be quick then. You know I’m working on a big project at the moment, right?”

“I’m aware you were recently cast in a Tommy Phelps film, yes. I fail to see how that would lead to you sitting in my car, and I don’t particularly care. Get out.”

It was a lie, of course. Thomas was insanely curious to find out why Danielle had come to speak to him about this project, but if he knew anything about her, he wouldn’t have to actually show any interest in order to get this information. She would tell him either way.

“Well, I got in a fight with him.”

That was probably the least surprising thing she could have said. Of course she got in a fight with him. Danielle got in a fight with everybody, over everything she didn’t agree with. “So? Did you lose your job over it and want me to get it back for you? Because even if I could – and, mind you, I probably can’t, since Phelps and I aren’t exactly friends – I wouldn’t.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “He quit.”

It was said so matter-of-factly, Thomas nearly didn’t register what her words meant. But once he did, he was glad he wasn’t driving, because he was certain he would have hit the brakes so hard, he would have damaged the car. “What?”

“He quit,” Danielle repeated slowly. “As in, the movie no longer has a director. As in, we’re screwed unless we find a new one.”

Thomas should have realised where this conversation was headed, but he was still too hung up on the fact that a fresh-out-of-college actress such as Danielle had made an established director such as Phelps quit a job that would have made him millions. So he ended up sounding like a broken record when he asked again, “What?”

“Okay, did you, like, lose a bunch of brain cells since I graduated? Because I could have sworn you were smarter than that.”

Whether or not it was the intended effect, the insult got his brain working again, and he finally managed to ask, “And how did that happen?”

Clearly, it was the right question to ask, because her demeanour changed instantly from annoyingly cheerful to suspiciously evasive. “That’s… not really important.”

“Then why are you here, Miss Allen?” Thomas asked.

She rolled her eyes. “And again I ask: what happened to your brain cells? Come on, you’re a smart guy, you can figure it out.”

“I don’t have time for these games. I just want to go home and enjoy my time away from my students,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “And former students, too.”

Danielle crossed her arms in front of her chest and tilted her chin up. “Well, you’re in for a lot of disappointment, then. Because you, my dearest Mr Hunt, are going to take over his job.”

“Excuse me? I will do no such thing. I haven’t been directing for a long time, and you know—”

“That the Silver Circle is no longer a problem? Why, yes, I do. No need to thank me, by the way.”

She was right, of course. If he hadn’t been terrified that he’d lost his spark, he would have gone back to directing two years ago, when the Silver Circle had been taken down by Danielle and her entourage. But he was terrified and, in any case, his comeback film was _not_ going to be a mindless blockbuster that was supposed to be directed by the likes of _Tommy Phelps_.

“My answer is no. Now get out of my car and let me go home.”

“Fine,” Danielle huffed as she opened the door. “But just so you know: I was the carrot. Have fun with the stick.”

With that, she got out of his car and slammed the door shut with more force than necessary. And Thomas drove off, not giving too much thought to her words, though he probably should have known better. Danielle Allen wasn’t one for empty promises – or empty threats, for that matter.


	2. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunt finds out what the 'stick' is, and it's not pretty. Danielle is worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunt worrying he can't direct anymore is honestly me right now with writing. Like, I haven't done it in a few months, and I'm like??? Is this how you do a write? Is this right? Idek anymore!

Thomas didn’t hear from Danielle or anyone else associated with her film for three days and, consequently, almost forgot about the interaction altogether. But there was that one small remark she’d made, about the Silver Circle, that stuck with him. It _had_ been two years, and it wasn’t like he never wanted to go back to directing. He did, but there was that fear of failure – what if he didn’t have what it takes anymore? What if he couldn’t do his job as he could before?

And, of course, there was also that small matter of finding the perfect project. He’d been looking at several scripts a while ago, but nothing had seemed… right for him. So he’d postponed, and postponed, and postponed – and the more time passed, the more his fear had grown.

Perhaps he should speak to Holly Chang, she might have something in the works. Then again, if he recalled correctly, she’d been hired for another project a few months ago, and was likely too busy to create another masterpiece.

No, he wasn’t going to find what was right for him now. And, in any case, it wasn’t like he had the time for creating a film before the next semester started. Unless, of course, he didn’t create it from scratch. If there was already a script, and a cast, and he’d only have to give up some creative control… no. Absolutely not. He was not, not even for a second, going to consider Danielle’s proposal.

But it hadn’t been a proposal, had it? She’d acted as if it was already set in stone. _You are going to take over his job_ , she’d said. She hadn’t asked him if he would do it, nor had she presented it in any way that implied he had a choice. He’d thought it was just her way of trying to persuade him – make him _think_ he couldn’t say no – but on the fifth day after their conversation, he was proven wrong.

It was a crisp white envelope that day, with no address on it but simply his name. He took it out of the mailbox and placed it on his kitchen counter, wondering if opening it was a good idea. He knew it wasn’t. So he didn’t touch it for several hours, in fact, he forgot about it until he went to get a glass of Scotch that night. And so when he returned to the lounge with his tumbler, he took the envelope with him as well.

It sat on the coffee table for another hour so, while he read over a script a former student of his had sent him, and his eyes kept wandering to that cursed piece of paper. And so, eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore and opened it. He immediately regretted that decision.

Thomas didn’t think he would ever be blackmailed again. After all, he hadn’t done anything he could be blackmailed with. But the single picture that had been in that envelope certainly _looked_ like he had done something. And it didn’t much matter whether it was taken out of context or not; not to the press. Especially not considering who the other person in the photo was. While many would likely agree that it didn’t seem much like Thomas, the same could not be said of Danielle. There were few things people – including Thomas – would put past her. Being in a secret relationship with a professor was not one of them.

“Damn you,” Thomas murmured as he stared at the photograph in his hands. “I told you, it could never be _just_ a dance.”

He looked at the picture of him and Danielle dancing just a little too intimately at her first Fairytale Kingdom Formal for another moment, before turning it around. There were three words written on it, followed by a set of initials.

_Don’t test me.  
– V.M._

Thomas was glad he’d put down the glass of Scotch earlier because he was convinced he would have thrown it across the room otherwise. Of course. Of course Danielle would work for Montmartre. She never learnt, did she? She’d been burnt a million times before and, still, she would choose to work for a snake such as him.

Then again, she didn’t know him. And being cast in a film that was expected to be extremely successful must have been quite tempting. As much as Thomas would have hoped she’d know better, as much as he would have hoped _he’d taught her_ to know better, he couldn’t blame her.

What he could blame her for, however, was telling someone that this photo existed. Because Thomas knew for a fact that it had never surfaced before, and that the only person who could have possibly known about it that was at all associated with this project, was Danielle. And, oh, she would pay for that.

But the picture was out there now, and if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Viktor Montmartre would not back down until he got what he wanted. And since Thomas had nothing on him whatsoever – not yet, anyway – he would have to play along. For now.

* * *

He had received the first letter. Danielle knew this because she was sitting in her car, just down the street from where Hunt lived and had just seen one of Viktor’s men drive by. She considered taking it out of his mailbox before he could find it but knew it wouldn’t have changed anything. Viktor had the pictures now. He had all the so-called proof he needed. It didn’t matter that what it was supposed to prove never even happened. The photos were all real, and it didn’t look good for her. It looked even worse for Hunt.

Maybe she should have told him when she’d gone to talk to him. Maybe she shouldn’t have waited for Viktor to take action. But how was she supposed to tell him that she may have accidentally ruined his entire life? She’d been too scared to bring it up. Terrified, really. And now it was too late.

Not long after the letter had been delivered, Hunt had come out of the house to collect his mail. But Danielle did not receive an angry text, or a call, within an hour of him going back inside. She would have expected one. Though, maybe, he simply didn’t think her number would still be the same. So she checked her e-mail. Nothing.

It seemed strange to her that Hunt wouldn’t immediately contact her. After all, he must have known that nobody but her would have known about the pictures. She wondered which ones had been in the envelope.

Had Viktor gone straight for the one from after the Fairytale Kingdom Formal, in which she had stupidly kissed his cheek, and it had looked like she had actually kissed him? Or had he chosen the one in which they were just dancing? That one would have been only marginally better, since they were holding each other quite closely, but at least it wasn’t ostensibly a kiss. Or maybe it was the one from Sundance. That one was the least terrible, and it had even been printed before, but in combination with the others – suffice it to say, it would no longer simply look like a professor who was proud of his student.

She should have listened to him when he’d said he wouldn’t dance with her. She should have listened to him when he’d taught her to always be wary of the people she did business with. But she was stupid, and she always thought she knew better, even when experience told her otherwise. In the end, Hunt had always been right.

Danielle checked her e-mail once again – still nothing – before she finally decided to drive off.

The call she’d expected finally came around a quarter to three in the morning. She was still awake, trying to distract herself by finally watching that show Addison had recommended to her so many times. Now that she was trying not to think of reality seemed the perfect time to get lost in a world of dragons and faeries… nonetheless, the second her phone rang, Danielle slammed her laptop shut and reached for her phone.

She didn’t want to answer. But she knew that she would have to face him eventually. So she picked up and immediately said, “I know. I’ll text you the address.”

“No need,” came Hunt’s voice from the other end of the line, just before her doorbell rang. “You should consider finding better friends. It’s quite concerning how willingly they give out your information.”

Danielle groaned as she made her way to the door. Of course he would already be there. He was Thomas Hunt, after all. “If Ethan gave you my address, it’s because he knows you, Hunt. Hold on, I’ll buzz you in.” She stopped short of the button, hesitating for a moment. “You didn’t bring any sort of weapon, did you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If I wanted you dead, I’d have hired someone,” he said before hanging up.

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Danielle murmured before pressing the button to let him inside. She wasn’t entirely sure if Hunt was joking or not, but at least she knew she wouldn’t die _tonight_.


	3. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and Danielle have a conversation. Nobody dies, surprisingly. There are tears, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: I'm really embracing the Hollywood U level of insanity/ridiculousness for this fic. Because I'm living for all the over-the-top drama and stereotypical villains right about now and you'll just have to deal with it. We're not here for logic, we're here for entertainment, henny.

Thomas had been surprised when the address Mr Blake had given him had turned out to be an apartment building in a not-so-glamourous part of town. Though Danielle had graduated not long ago, she wasn’t poor by any means. She’d accomplished much more than seemed possible during her time at Hollywood U; had been a part of – and even produced – multiple high-profile projects, and earned what Thomas assumed must have been a great sum of money, and yet… she lived here.

It wasn’t a terrible neighbourhood – rather close to the university and, consequently, not far from his own house – and the building looked clean and well taken care of. Still, Thomas would have expected… something flashier. Or at least something _bigger_.

His surprise was even bigger when Danielle let him into her apartment. It was a studio, and while not tiny, it certainly didn’t offer a lot of space. The furniture – and especially the kitchen area – looked somewhat out of place, being very clearly more expensive than someone who would normally live in such a space could ever afford.

But Thomas wasn’t here to judge her choice of home or her taste in interior decorating. So he took his eyes off the _Permanent Wound_ poster above her desk and turned to her. “Why did you do it? Are you that desperate to work with me? Because—”

“You think I _want_ to work with you?” she exclaimed, followed by a shrill laugh. “You’re insane. I’ve seen you work. You’re a right bastard of a director, and I’d take Phelps over you any day.”

That statement hurt his pride much more than he cared to admit. Phelps certainly was not a better director than he was! How dare she even insinuate that? “Then why aren’t you pestering him to come back to the film?”

“Because—” She took a deep breath and shook her head, seemingly changing her mind. “Would you like some tea?”

“No, I would _like_ to know what the hell you aren’t telling me!”

She nodded. “Tea, then. Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

Danielle walked over to the kitchen area. Thomas didn’t sit down but followed her instead. “Miss Allen, I do not have the time—”

“I lied to you, okay?” she said, sounding choked, and when she turned around Thomas could see the tears in her eyes. “I lied. There was no fight.”

“Then wh—”

“Sit. Please?”

And she looked so young then, so vulnerable, so much like the green freshman who had her first paycheck taken away by a soulless industry giant, that Thomas couldn’t help relenting. He nodded, told her, “Earl Grey, if you have any,” and made his way over to the couch. He watched her slowly compose herself as she prepared the tea, and by the time she walked over with two cups – one black and unsweetened, one with milk and sugar – she seemed to have calmed down. She set the milk-less tea on the coffee table and handed Thomas the other cup before sitting down on the chair across from him.

“Did I tell you how I take my tea?”

She shook her head. “Centaurus Lost. You’d have coffee in the early mornings, then switch to tea around noon.”

Thomas almost dropped his cup at that. Centaurus Lost. He’d nearly forgotten. “Are there pictures from the set, too?”

Danielle bit her lip, then nodded hesitantly. “Viktor doesn’t have them, though.”

“Do _you_ have them?” he inquired.

She looked at the floor, then nodded again. “They’re safe, I promise. I never gave anything to him. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

Thomas took a sip of his tea, contemplating how to get any information out of her without making her cry again. Something was wrong, he could tell, and perhaps he had judged her prematurely. Perhaps she really wasn’t at fault. Perhaps he should withhold judgement until he heard what she had to say. _If_ she had to say anything, that was.

“You said you lied,” he ventured.

She swallowed hard. “I did.”

“About Phelps?”

Danielle closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “He didn’t quit. He was fired.”

“That makes no sense whatsoever. Why—”

“It will in a moment,” she sighed. “They – or I suppose I should say Viktor – never actually wanted _me_ in the film. He just wanted me to bring people in.”

Thomas groaned as the pieces began falling into place. “Because you have pull with all the people he doesn’t.”

She nodded sadly. “I got Zoe and Chris on board. Even managed to get Holly in to write the script. The only person he wanted that I couldn’t – wouldn’t – get him was…”

“Me,” he finished. “You never even came to ask me.”

“Because I knew you would say no,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, absolutely. But I would have also told you to stay away from Montmartre.”

Danielle raised an eyebrow. “Gee, thanks. You don’t think I realised at that point that I’ve made a mistake? But I’d already signed the contract.”

“Fair enough,” Thomas conceded. It wasn’t like he could tell her she could have come to him for help. “So, at some point, Phelps comes in.”

“Yes, because we did need a director, and he’s done good enough work for Viktor in the past. Not who he had wanted, but better than no one, I suppose.”

He didn’t ask why Montmartre would have wanted him. Or Holly Chang, or Chris Winters, or Zoe Rodriguez. It was quite obvious – a show of power. Now that the hierarchy of the Silver Circle had been destroyed, he could have it all. Thomas should have known that it wouldn’t be long until a new problem would emerge.

What he didn’t quite understand, however, was how Montmartre had come to be in possession of that photograph. And, most certainly, others as well. The most logical explanation would have been that Danielle had been blackmailed first. If her time at the university was any indication, there was plenty of blackmail material to be found about her. And though Thomas didn’t _want_ to believe she would throw him under the bus like that—

“Oh, hell no,” she said, interrupting his train of thought. “I cannot _believe_ you would even _think_ that I could – do you really think so little of me?”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “What am I supposed to think? Clearly, he has something on you, and who could blame you—”

“Oh, fuck you, Thomas,” she snarled and got up from her chair, nearly knocking it over. She walked to her desk to retrieve something from her purse and returned with her wallet a few seconds later, slamming it on the coffee table. “His stupid niece found this.”

“Your wallet?” Thomas asked. Now he was really confused. What did her wallet have to do with any of this?

“Open it.”

“Why—”

“Just open it,” she snapped.

He picked up the small leather purse and unfolded it, only to see that picture from the Fairytale Kingdom Formal he’d been sent in the ID window. “So he had a picture of us dancing. He’s got to have more; he wouldn’t risk being reported over so little proof.”

She nodded. “Slide it out.”

Thomas did as she told him and nearly gasped when he saw the photo behind it. It was from the same night, only a few hours later, and it appeared that he was kissing her. “This never happened.”

“Yes, it did. You found me in the rain, after my fight with Bianca, and we danced, and—”

“I remember,” he interrupted her. Of course he did. That was not a night he would forget, though he did bury the memory all the way in the back of his mind. “But I never kissed you. I would never!”

Danielle took the wallet from his hands and looked at the photo for a while before saying, “No, but I would.”

“You didn’t. I think I would remember.”

She rolled her eyes. “And I’d think you’d remember that it was just your cheek – no matter what it looks like in the photo.”

He did remember that. He also remembered repeatedly touching his cheek on the way home and wondering why the hell he had allowed her to do that. He asked himself that same question now – but there was no use dwelling on it. “Does he have any more?”

“Some from Sundance. The one May Gordon’s published before. They’re not bad on their own, but…”

“Damn it, Danielle! You should have told me as soon as you knew he had them!”

“Told you what? That I’ve ruined your life? That I’m exactly as stupid as you always said I was? No thanks. It’s not like it would have changed anything.” She sniffed. “I’m sorry. I am. I wish I’d never kept those stupid pictures. I should have just burnt them or something.”

Thomas was not prepared for how much he disagreed with that notion. Though, logically, it would be better if those pictures didn’t exist, he didn’t want them to be gone. The Fairytale Kingdom Formal that particular year had been the only one he’d ever even remotely enjoyed. Still… “Why didn’t you? Why keep them in your wallet?”

Danielle smiled ruefully. “Because I’m sentimental. Why do you think I still live here?”

“ _Still_? Is this…?”

She nodded. “The apartment I moved into when I decided to live off-campus. Yeah. I never could part with it. And it’s not like I need more space right now. I spend most of my time on set, anyway.”

“You’ll have to part with it someday. The building might be demolished, or even just sold.”

“Oh, it was sold. To me.”

Thomas blinked. “You bought this whole building because you wanted to keep your old apartment?”

“I told you I’m sentimental,” she shrugged. “Besides, it’s a gold mine. I mean, so close to campus? And not a complete dump? It’s perfect.”

They were quiet for a while, unsure what else there was to be said. Thomas knew he would have to comply with Viktor’s demands for the time being, and Danielle seemed incredibly reluctant to speak – likely for fear of upsetting him in any way. Eventually, he broke the silence.

“You said you had photos from the set of Centaurus Lost…”

She looked up at him wide-eyed. “I… I do. And… some others, too.”

“Can I see them?”

He wasn’t sure what drove him to ask. But, surely, it would be good to know what else could get out there… that was the only reason. He just wanted to know if there was anything else that could ever be used against him. Maybe he’d even make her destroy everything. He knew he wouldn’t, though. Because Thomas, too, had a sentimental side.


	4. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all, remember when I was writing 'Wherefore Art Thou My Professor?' and thought it was an absolute trainwreck? I think I’ve found its worthy successor because this is so much worse (in the best way, if you ask me). I keep getting hella sidetracked and even though I know how it’s gonna end, I have NO IDEA what my brain decides to do with the middle part. So stay tuned, I guess.

Danielle was almost certain that Hunt would freak upon seeing her collection of photos from her time at Hollywood U. He wasn’t in all of them – not even half of them, really – but she did have quite a few pictures of him. Nonetheless, she felt like she at least owed it to him to let him see them. “Okay. I’ll get my laptop,” she said and got up from her chair.

“Please tell me you did not store them online,” Hunt replied, rather condescendingly.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, no, I saved them to the most easily hackable cloud I could find. Jesus, Hunt, the ones you’re worried about are all safely stored on an encrypted flash drive. Stop assuming the worst of me for two seconds, would you?”

He mumbled something she didn’t understand – and she was sure that was for the better – while she retrieved her laptop and the flash drive.

“You’ll have to promise me not to tell a soul about the things you may see on this,” Danielle said when she returned, and Hunt raised an eyebrow.

“What exactly am I going to see?” he asked.

She shrugged as she plugged the drive into her laptop. “I’m not sure. I’ll try not to show you any things that don’t concern you, but these are pretty much all the photos I’ve bought off paparazzi that some people might not want to see published.”

“I didn’t know you did that,” Hunt remarked while she unlocked the flash drive.

Danielle chuckled. “What, you thought I needed _you_ to save my ass all the time? You know, I try to learn from my mistakes.”

“Could have fooled me,” he huffed.

“Do you want to see the pictures or not? I know I fucked up, you don’t have to remind me,” she said and got up. “Scoot over. I’m not letting you go through them alone.”

Hunt reluctantly did as she told him, and she sat down on the sofa, closer than he probably would have liked her to be. But there were things on there she certainly did _not_ want him to see.

* * *

There were several folders on Danielle’s flash drive, and though Thomas didn’t have a chance to get a good look at them before she’d clicked on the one titled _Centaurus Lost_ , he had a fairly decent idea of just how many people’s photographs she had kept out of the press – and therefore just how many people she could have under her thumb, were she ever to stoop to Montmartre’s level.

One of the folders he had seen was titled Chris, which should have been the least surprising as Danielle and Chris Winters had dated for some years during her time at the university, but considering the images Thomas had seen of the two in magazines, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what could be found inside. The other folders, as far as he could tell from the short glimpse he’d caught of them, all bore the names of either projects she’d worked on – such as Centaurus Lost – or of her friends. And, all of a sudden, Thomas had to re-evaluate what he knew of Danielle.

That she had kept so much from being leaked to the public was admirable, but the fact that she had kept everything was certainly cause for concern. Perhaps she truly was capable of worse than he’d thought.

“Most of these aren’t pictures of you,” Danielle said once the contents of the folder – multiple hundreds of images – had fully loaded. “In fact, almost all of them are of Holly and Mike. I’m actually quite surprised by how many I could get, considering the whole thing with May.”

Thomas simply nodded along, beginning to feel somewhat uneasy. Many of the photographs of Tanner and Holly could have very well been used to support May Gordon’s narrative, had she ever got her hands on it. It made sense, of course, that Danielle would have wanted to keep them from being leaked at the time, seeing as it was her film as well, but now… now she could very well release them, and likely make good money speaking about everything that happened behind the scenes. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know what she could do with whatever images she had of him.

She would be able to spin a pretty story, he was sure of it, and come out unscathed, while he… well, considering that many a despicable Hollywood giant got what they deserved these days, he was sure he could easily be lumped in with the lot of them, and his career – or what was left of it – would be over.

Because Thomas knew he’d made some questionable decisions while working with Danielle, and though they had never quite become friends – or, God forbid, more than friends – they had been closer than they probably should have been during that time, and he was certain the photos she had reflected that.

“How many are there?” he eventually asked while Danielle was scrolling through the images to find the ones they were looking for.

“Potentially incriminating ones? Two or three, I would say,” she said nonchalantly, which did nothing to alleviate his concerns.

Had she perhaps been lying again? Had she given the photographs to Montmartre after all? She’d seemed upset before, but she _was_ an actress, and as much as Thomas believed he was skilled enough at reading people to tell whether or not they were putting on an act… Danielle was Danielle.

“And how many overall?”

She turned to him, an eyebrow raised. “We worked together quite closely on the daily. What do you think?” With a shake of her head, she turned back to the screen and said, “Ah, here they are. See for yourself.”

Danielle clicked on the first file and a picture of her and Thomas walking out of the studio together just before dawn filled the screen. That, he imagined, would have been one of the two or three problematic ones – at least in combination with the ones Montmartre already had.

“I remember that night,” Thomas said involuntarily. He wasn’t sure what he meant to say, but he knew it wasn’t that, and it most certainly wasn’t supposed to come out the way it did – as if it was a fond memory.

Danielle smiled at that. “So do I. I think it was the first time we managed not to yell at each other for more than two hours.”

“If I recall correctly, you almost ruined the peace by finishing off _my_ Scotch without asking me,” he said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to reminisce about photographs he was worried could be used as blackmail material.

“ _You_ ate _my_ snacks first. It was only fair,” Danielle countered, then let out a sigh. “God, that seems like so long ago.”

Thomas had to agree, though it really hadn’t been. It had to have been just over a year and a half, and yet it felt like an eternity. He didn’t say that, though, and just remained silent as Danielle began clicking through the images.

Most of them were harmless – the two of them at work, several obvious disagreements, or just a conversation – but then there was another one from a late night. It had clearly been shot through a window and showed Thomas and Danielle in an embrace that, to an outsider, would most certainly not look appropriate for a professor and a student.

“You should…” Thomas began, then trailed off. He remembered that night, too. It had been one of the last nights before filming – and therefore their working relationship – had ended. They’d officially made peace then, promising to respect each other as they hadn’t before they’d started working together. Needless to say, that hadn’t worked out. Thomas cleared his throat. “You should probably delete this one.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide, and shook her head. “I promise, no one will get their hands on this. Dean knows his stuff; he’s made sure it’s safe, and nobody knows where I store this. I swear—”

“Danielle,” Thomas said quietly and much more softly than he had intended.

Chewing her lip in that way she always did when she was nervous, she regarded him for a moment more, then looked back to the image on screen. “You know, I really thought you meant it then,” she said wistfully. “That we could be civil, at least.”

“We _are_ civil right now,” he argued, which made her turn to him again, a stern look on her face.

“Right. But only because you want to check out what I have on you. Don’t think for a moment that I don’t know that. I’m not quite that naïve, Hunt.” She sighed. “Look, if you want me to delete the photos, I’ll delete them.”

Thomas wanted to believe the offer was genuine, but if his concerns were justified, she’d certainly have copies of everything lying around somewhere. And if they weren’t, it wouldn’t matter whether or not she kept the photos.

“No,” he said eventually. “But I’m going to need something in return, to guarantee you won’t release or use them against me in any way. Insurance, if you will.”

Danielle narrowed her eyes at him. “You honestly think I would – of course you do.” She huffed. “Fine. It’s a good thing I happen to know you only pretend to be scary so people will respect you,” she said as she removed the flash drive and put the laptop down on the coffee table.

“What are you doing?” Thomas asked, furrowing his brows.

“Oh, I’m not giving you my nudes,” she said and got up from the sofa, smirking when an odd choking sound escaped Thomas. “Come on, I’ll give you something better.”

He followed Danielle to her wardrobe and watched as she climbed onto a chair to get a cardboard box off the top shelf. She handed it to him without another word, then jumped off the chair.

“What is it?” Thomas asked.

“Open it.”

He did as she told him and gasped when he saw the contents. “I thought the university had taken care of this.”

“They did,” she said, biting her lip. “Nothing ever got out. And it’s not everything, but it’s enough proof, I’d say.”

“I couldn’t – this would ruin you,” Thomas said and tried to give the box back but Danielle wouldn’t take it.

“Kind of the point, isn’t it?” she said with a shrug. “You’re worried I’ll ruin you, so I’m giving you the tools to return the favour if I ever do. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

He nodded hesitantly. “Yes, but—”

“Good. Good,” she said resignedly and inclined her head towards the door. “Then I suppose it’s time for you to go.”


	5. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danielle does what she probably should have done a while ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short one. Also, this clears exactly nothing up lol, I promise we'll learn more soon...

It didn’t feel right to leave now, but after he’d essentially made it clear that he did not trust Danielle in the least, Thomas didn’t think he had any right to refuse her request. So he made his way to the door, the tools to destroy her life heavy in his hands.

“Wait a second,” Danielle said just as he reached for the door handle.

He turned around immediately. “Yes?”

“What… what are we going to do about Viktor?”

Thomas’ shoulders slumped. “There’s nothing we can do for now.”

“I’m sorry. I really am,” she said.

He wanted to tell her that he knew, and that he believed that part at least, but he didn’t see the point. _She_ wouldn’t believe _him_. “I’ll see you on set, Miss Allen.”

And with that, he opened the door and left her apartment.

* * *

The second the door closed behind Hunt, Danielle threw herself onto her bed and buried her head in a pillow. She couldn’t believe what she had just done. She’d given him – Thomas fucking Hunt, the man she was convinced hated her guts, even more so now than ever before – evidence of the worst thing she had ever done.

He’d known of it all along, of course, and though he hadn’t had anything to do with covering it up, he’d certainly never shown any inclination of wanting to go public with it. But he’d also never had any proof before. Now that he did, who knew what he’d do with it?

Of course, the deal they’d struck was clear – if he did release it, she’d release what she had on him. But what she had on him would potentially cost him his job at the university, and perhaps mean he’d no longer be respected by most people in the industry. What he had on her now, however, would most certainly land her in prison.

But what was much worse than this fear – because, realistically, Danielle knew Hunt wasn’t half as much of an asshole as he wanted people to believe he was – was the sting of realising just how much he mistrusted her. She’d thought he’d believed her when she told him she never wanted this to happen, but then he’d gone and accused her of being the type of person who would resort to blackmail and extortion.

It shouldn’t have surprised her, really. She knew it didn’t look good for her that she’d kept all these photos of events that, for the most part, weren’t even important memories. She took the flash drive out of her pocket and stared at it with contempt. God, if only she wasn’t such a wimp. She should have never kept any of the photos. She should have just destroyed every single one of them.

Well, maybe not _every_ one. She let out a long sigh, then got up to grab her laptop from the coffee table. She plugged the flash drive back in and opened up the folder she’d shown Thomas before. He hadn’t even got to see all of the photos before she’d made him leave. There was one more in that folder, and it was her absolute favourite.

It wasn’t anything special, really, and it was definitely not one Viktor could have used against them in any way. It was simply the two of them, acting out a scene to figure out just how they wanted it to feel. They’d had a disagreement about it earlier that day – which had, surprisingly, not turned into a shouting match – and decided they would just have to see which version felt right. Danielle had to concede, in the end, that Hunt had been right. But, for once, he hadn’t ridiculed her but instead commended her for the idea to _see_ which version was the right one rather than just talk in circles.

She sighed again. There had been a time, albeit short-lived, when she and Hunt had almost had something like a friendship. And then, all of a sudden, everything had gone wrong again. She’d often wondered what she had done to lose his respect, and sometimes she had almost started to believe that he’d only been nice for the sake of the film, but she _knew_ that couldn’t have been it. Or, at least, she hoped.

Not that it mattered now. Whatever could have been salvaged of that almost-friendship had been destroyed now, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Not yet, anyway. She _would_ find a way to fix things. But, first, there was something else she had to do. For herself as much as everyone else whose pictures were on that flash drive.

She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she could really do it. She thought of the two rooms in the basement that held dozens of boxes filled with things she _knew_ she’d never need again, but could never bring herself to throw away. She thought of the wooden chest back at her parents’ house that still stood in her old room, holding all her diaries from when she first started keeping one at age five to when she moved out. If she did this, maybe those could be next.

Her mind made up, she closed the photo of her and Hunt, and looked for the software Dean had installed on the flash drive for her, in case she ever wanted to get rid of everything. To wipe the entire thing, permanently, with no way of ever recovering the files. Once she found it, she hesitated for another moment, then went back to the Centaurus Lost folder. She made a copy of the last image she’d looked at, her favourite one, then considered making copies of all the other photos she had of Hunt – the ones that could actually be used against him. After all, he did have something to use against her, too.

But she decided not to. Hunt may not have trusted her, and probably for good reason, but she knew that she would have never used it anyway. So she wiped the entire drive, keeping only that one photo, and when it was done, she was surprised to find she didn’t feel any different.


	6. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And work begins... unfortunately, there might be more than just one problem for Danielle and Hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still here, I promise! I didn't disappear again. It was just what I like to call 'birthday season' in my house (because, for some reason, literally everyone's birthday except for mine's in May, and two of them are within two days of each other).

She didn’t see Hunt again until the next week. She hadn’t heard from him, either. All she knew was what the production team had told her – that he’d been in contact with Viktor, and that he was, indeed, going to be directing the movie. Not surprisingly, that turned out to be true. After all, there wasn’t much else he could have done. Danielle had tried to get dirt on Viktor herself, though that endeavour came to a quick end when she realised that the people who would have the information she needed were likely in his pocket and would not hesitate to tell him she was snooping around. And that would have the opposite of the desired effect. So she’d racked her brain to find something – anything – else she could do, but she came up short. By the time filming was due to resume – and she was going to have to face Hunt again – she still was in the exact same spot she’d been when he’d turned up at her apartment that night.

So when she arrived at the studio that morning, she wished she could be anywhere else. Luckily for her, Hunt wasn’t the first person she met. Though she wasn’t sure just how much better running into Ethan was. He’d stepped out of a cab shortly after she’d arrived and just barely managed to catch her before she got to the gate. “Wait up, I’ve got something to tell you!”

Danielle sighed. “Look, I already told you, I’m fine. It’s going to be fine.”

“No, you’re not. And it’s probably not,” he said and shook his head. “But that’s not what I mean. You’re going to want to hear this.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Unless it involves a time machine or the tools to stop Viktor, I don’t think so.”

“I can get you out of your contract.”

She froze, then blinked a couple of times to process what Ethan had just said, and eventually turned around ever so slowly. “What?”

“I’ve found a loophole. We can get you out of this contract, and you won’t have to worry—”

“Are you insane? You think I’m just going to let everyone else deal with _my_ mess?”

“Well, I—”

She took a step closer, getting up in his face. “Absolutely not. I _will_ fix this, Ethan. I’m not going to run away from this.”

“I didn’t mean to… I thought…”

“Oh, you thought, did you? You of all people should know how important friends are to me. I will not leave them to—”

“Hunt isn’t your friend, Danielle,” he pointed out, and she suddenly felt like someone had stepped on her chest.

“Well… I mean… but Zoe and Chris and—”

Ethan shook his head. “This is about Hunt and you know it. Do you really think he wouldn’t take this opportunity if he was in your position? Because if you do, you’re unbelievably stupid. He wouldn’t care what happens to you, so you shouldn’t, either.”

“You’re wrong,” she said, and she believed it. Because Thomas Hunt may have been many things, but a coward wasn’t one of them.

“I take it that means you’re not interested?”

“No, Ethan,” she said exasperatedly. “I’m not fucking interested.”

\---

Thomas could think of a seemingly infinite number of places he would have rather been that Tuesday morning – one of them being hell because, surely, hell could not have been worse than working for Montmartre. But, alas, there was nothing he could do about the situation – for now. He _would_ find a way to make him pay and, preferably, stop him once and for all. Because what had only been professional differences before had been made personal now, and Thomas would not let himself be bullied by men like him. Unfortunately, for the time being, he didn’t have a choice. He had to comply with Montmartre’s every demand, which was why he found himself addressing the cast and crew of _Montmartre Pictures’_ newest blockbuster on Tuesday morning.

Though it wasn’t quite the entire cast and crew. The first thing Thomas had noticed upon entering the soundstage was that one key member of the cast was missing – Danielle. He couldn’t say he was surprised, however, as he _had_ been her professor for several years, and he’d stopped counting how many times she’d been late to class or other important events after less than three months. So he began introducing himself and explaining his plans – which, first and foremost, included reshooting everything that had been shot with Phelps as a director – without waiting for her. But when she still hadn’t come in once he was done, his agitation grew. He could understand why she didn’t want to be here, but neither did he, and he’d come nonetheless.

Angrily, he made his way to the door in hopes of having better cell reception outside so he could call her, but then he saw her standing there, leaning against the wall right by the door. “Hey Hunt.”

“Where have you been? You were supposed to be here at ten.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I was. Or, well, may have been one or two minutes late, but I’ve caught pretty much all of your speech.”

“And how come you haven’t joined us?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Hunt, just fucking let it go. I’m tired, I’m pissed, and I’m just trying not to murder anyone here.”

“Well, we all know we can’t put _that_ past you, so I suppose I’ll count my blessings that you’re _trying_ ,” he said, immediately regretting it upon seeing the look on her face. “Danielle, I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” she said, her face hardening. “Come on, it’s time to get to work. Let’s have a look at that revised script, shall we?”

“Danielle, I’m—” he began, but it was clear she’d already stopped listening as she made her way to the rest of the group. He let out a huff, then followed her. _That could have gone better_.

He didn’t get far, however, as he froze when he heard Montmartre’s voice from behind him. “Well, well, well. A lovers’ quarrel already? I suppose they _do_ say never to mix pleasure with business. Though I, of course, disagree.”

“What do you want?” Thomas asked, turning around to see the smirk on Montmartre’s face.

“To see how everything is going, of course,” he said. “I _am_ still the producer of this movie. And I won’t allow you two to mess with it.”

“Don’t you have better things to do?” If Montmartre was to be on set every day – which Thomas couldn’t imagine he would, but who knew how far he’d go to torment him – this would be significantly worse than he’d imagined.

“Oh, I’m just going to check in at random times,” he said with a sly smile. “But, make no mistake, you _will_ be watched.”

That, at least, was to be expected. “Yes, I imagine one of those PAs over there will be reporting our every word and interaction to you.”

“Now, now, don’t be so judgemental. I’m simply making sure this movie gets made. That’s what we all want, isn’t it? Speaking of – why don’t we join the others? I believe you were planning on going over the new script with them, weren’t you?”

Thomas huffed. The last thing he wanted to do was work with Montmartre in the room but, then again, he didn’t have a choice. He only hoped he’d tire of being there soon and leave them alone. “Of course. Come with me.”


	7. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor is the absolute WORST kind of person again. Also, we get to see Hunt and Danielle at work and, "oh shit, why is my former student so sexy?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can kinda tell this was supposed to be two chapters, but they would have been way too short, so I combined them.
> 
> Also, FUCK Viktor!, is all I'm gonna say.

Montmartre stayed far longer than Thomas had expected – he was still there once they’d gone through one reading of the revised script and Thomas had sent everyone he didn’t need on set that day home, while everyone else had been sent to make-up and wardrobe.

“Will you be staying the entire day?” Thomas asked, walking up to him. “I’m not sure that’ll be what’s best for the production.”

“Oh, I was just about to leave,” Montmartre replied with a sly grin. “Just have to speak to your little Miss Allen for a moment and I’ll be off.”

Thomas narrowed his eyes. “Whatever for? She’s not the one you need to be worried about.”

“Is that a threat?” Montmartre asked, an eyebrow raised. “Because threatening me would be unwise.”

“Not a threat,” Thomas said, shaking his head. “I just don’t think it’s necessary—”

“That’ll be for me to decide,” Montmartre said and called one of the production assistants over. “Darling, would you find out where I can find Danielle for me?”

“She was just headed to make-up,” the young woman answered.

Montmartre turned back to Thomas. “I’ll be on my way, then. And remember what I told you – I’ve got my eye on you. Any funny business and you’re done for.”

“Noted.”

* * *

It was rare for Danielle to be angry with Chris these days – their break-up had been the best decision either of them had ever made, and they were much better off as friends – but, right now, he was truly getting on her nerves. Unfortunately for her, she couldn’t very well tell him that unless she wanted the make-up artist who was currently applying her lipstick to be immensely cross with her.

“I understand that you and Hunt have some less-than-ideal history, but I think you being an asshole isn’t going to make anything better,” Chris went on and Danielle badly wanted to roll her eyes.

 _She_ wasn’t the asshole, it was Hunt! He was the one who didn’t trust her, and he was the one who had been such an ass this morning! Then again, Chris didn’t know the half of it, so she couldn’t very well blame him for assuming she was the bad guy here.

“Can you at least try to be civil?”

Danielle huffed, then nodded – resulting in an exasperated sigh from the make-up artist.

“Could you be still for just a few more minutes? We’re almost done and—”

She was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by Viktor popping his head in. “Could I speak to Danielle for a moment? In private, please.”

The make-up artist groaned. “I really can’t do my job around here, can I?”

“What was that?” Viktor asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Nothing, Mr Montmartre,” she said and motioned for the other people in the room to follow her out.

Once Viktor and Danielle were alone, he pulled up a chair and sat down right in front of her.

“What now?” Danielle asked. “You’ve got Hunt. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

He nodded. “I do, and it was. But I don’t trust either of you, and I just want to make sure we’re clear on how this works.”

“Yeah, yeah. We finish this movie, we don’t cause any problems, you don’t publish the photos.”

Viktor pursed his lips. “Well, yes, but there are other things that I want.”

“Other… things?” Danielle asked though the look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know.

He smirked. “You look awfully pretty in that dress, Danielle.”

A shudder ran down her spine. “T-thank you.” She cleared her throat. “I really think I should be getting my hair and make-up done, though. We wouldn’t want to get behind schedule.”

“Oh, we’re already behind schedule,” Viktor argued, stopping her from getting up by putting his hand on her shoulder to push her back down into the chair. “You’ll want to agree to anything I say, Danielle, or your precious Hunt will pay the price.” He moved his hand upwards to brush her cheek, and she had to stop herself from clenching her jaw. “I’ll see you soon.”

And with that, he left, and a few moments later, everyone else was back inside and getting to work again. She didn’t notice much of what was going on around her, however, as a plan was forming in her mind. A ludicrously stupid, dangerous plan – but a plan nonetheless. Danielle knew what she had to do to. And she was prepared to do it.

But, first things first, she had to get through this day of shooting.

Not long after Viktor’s departure her – and Chris’ – make-up was done, and they were sent back to the soundstage, where it became immediately clear to Danielle that filming with Hunt would be entirely different to filming with Phelps. He’d always had a million people around, while now the space seemed much emptier. Only she, Chris, and the other two actors that were needed for the scenes today were present, as well as minimal crew. It reminded her very much of when they’d filmed _Centaurus Lost_ together – except, this time, they weren’t quite co-workers. This time, Hunt was essentially her boss, and she was just an actress. Still, the familiarity of it all was somewhat soothing.

“You seem less tense than earlier,” Chris remarked as they made their way to the set.

Danielle shrugged. “Just getting into the right mindset for work is all.”

“Right. I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with the fact that you just realised you missed working with Hunt.”

“I did not—” Chris shot her a look, and she rolled her eyes. “Fine. I do miss it, but I’m not working _with_ him, anyway. He gets to boss me around this time.”

He raised an eyebrow. “If I recall correctly, you _like_ being bossed around under the right circumstances.”

“Shut up!” Danielle blushed. “And it’s not like that.”

Chris chuckled. “If you say so. But, don’t forget, I’ve known you for quite a while now, and your kinks aren’t the only thing I’m privy to.”

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and Danielle’s blush deepened upon realising that it was Hunt.

“Hunt! We were just…er…”

He made a dismissive hand motion. “As interesting as your activities in the bedroom may be to the tabloids, I do not need – nor want – to hear about them.”

“Duly noted, Mr Hunt,” Chris said with a shit-eating grin that Danielle would have gladly slapped off his face. He inclined his head towards the set. “I take it you wanted to start with the scene in which Jack and Maeve finally meet face-to-face?”

Hunt nodded. “That was the idea. Now, take your marks, everyone, we don’t have all day.”

* * *

Thomas knew the moment Danielle walked on set that he would have to have a talk with the costume department. She looked stunning – of course she did – but there was much less fabric and a lot more exposed skin than he would have liked to see on her. Because, frankly, there was absolutely no reason for her to be wearing a glorified bathing suit made of some material that he assumed was meant to look like armour. He’d never had to fight armies of orcs before, but he was fairly certain that an experienced swordswoman – such as her character supposedly was – would not choose to do so in such a flimsy costume.

Unfortunately, there was no time today to change anything about it. Then again, there was only very little fighting going to be taking place in this scene, so perhaps there was a way to salvage it.

“One more moment,” Thomas told Danielle and Chris once they’d taken their places, then turned to the closest production assistant he could find. “You! I need some type of cloak for Maeve to wear, could you check with wardrobe if that’s possible?”

“Of course, Mr Hunt,” he said and walked off to radio someone.

“A cloak?” Danielle asked. “I’ve never worn a cloak in this scene before.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Are you questioning me?”

“Yes, I am! I’ll be fighting Chris, and a cloak would only get in the way. Why would my character be wearing one?” She shook her head. “She would know this, seeing as she’s one of the most skilled swordfighters in all the land!”

“But she’s not expecting to have to fight, is she? No one has visited her cave since she has disappeared, and she’s secured it as much as she could – why would she be _prepared_ for a fight?”

She huffed. “It still doesn’t make sense.”

“Danielle, you and I both know that your costume is ridiculous. If you have any better ideas, please do tell.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and narrowed her eyes, then eventually sighed and nodded. “Well, I _suppose_ a cave in the mountains _could_ be quite cold… and Maeve would probably be wearing something to keep her from freezing to death.”

“Don’t forget that _I’m_ the director here and you’re—” He stopped when he realised that she’d actually agreed with him and cleared his throat. “Yes, exactly. I’ll be talking to the costume designers about what to do with your costume and, next time, we shouldn’t have such a problem anymore.”

A short moment later, the production assistant returned with a black cloak and, after getting Thomas’ approval, gave it to Danielle. She put it on, then looked up, inclining her head. “Better?”

“It’ll do,” Thomas said. “Now, places, everyone!”

Chris, who had been watching them from behind the cave wall, returned to his position out of frame, and Danielle sat back down by the fire.

“And… action!”

It had been a long time since Thomas had last seen Danielle at work but, lord, she was still as captivating as ever. The moment the cameras started rolling, every trace of the person he knew had disappeared, and she had fully become Maeve, the cave-dwelling swordswoman from a fantastical land. And, he had to admit, her chemistry with Chris was incredible – but nothing could have prepared him for the moment her character began suspecting his of having been sent by the orc king and grabbed her sword.

Thomas had never seen her carry out a choreographed fight before, and he was surprised to see her do it so effortlessly – even with the added challenge of the fluttering cloak. She was mesmerising to watch as she attacked and parried and spun around, the black fabric hiding her costume revealing tantalising glimpses of her skin every so often. Eventually, Danielle had the point of her sword at Chris’ throat, forcing him down to kneel in front of her, and Thomas got the sudden urge to loosen his tie.

 _Get a grip, Thomas_ , he told himself. _It’s not like being held at her sword’s point is such an enticing thought._

The shiver that ran down his spine at the idea, however, appeared to disagree.


	8. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris is a perceptive motherfucker and, oh shit, there's more trouble coming Danielle's way...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has this chapter been finished for ages? Perhaps. Am I a dumbass who couldn't be arsed to upload it? Most certainly. But it's here now so...

The first take was good but, even though Thomas hadn’t chosen to work on this film, good simply wouldn’t be enough. No matter the circumstances, there was no way he would have his name attached to any project that was anything less than outstanding. So they shot the scene again several times, and while that startling attraction Thomas had felt the first time around didn’t fade, there was another feeling finding its way to the surface – pride. Danielle had always been a wonderful actress – and he had always known that she would be the one in a million that would make it – but she’d improved even more since she had graduated and been sent out into the real world. And that, as hard as he’d been on her during her time at the university, and even now, was all he’d ever wanted for her.

And when, after he called cut on the scene for the final time, she came walking towards him with a huge smile on her lips, he could feel his heart leap in his chest. It reminded him so much of when they’d last worked together, he almost forgot the situation they were in.

“I was wrong,” Danielle said once she stood right in front of him, and Thomas was certain he’d never seen anyone – least of all her – looking so happy while saying those words. “You’re not so bad to have as a director.”

He tried to look affronted but struggled to hide his own smile. “Not so bad?”

“Don’t get greedy, Hunt. It’s all you’re gonna get today,” she said with a little smirk, then turned around to make her way back to wardrobe.

Thomas watched as she walked away, not noticing that Chris had walked up to him until he felt his hand on his shoulder. “Careful there. If you stare at her ass any longer, you might just start drooling.”

“I am not—” Thomas shook his head. “Rest assured that I’m not here to _steal your girl_ , Mr Winters, but to direct this film. Speaking of which, I believe you’ve got one more scene to film.”

Chris grinned. “You sound an awful lot like you’re jealous, Hunt. And just so you know – Danielle’s not my girl.”

* * *

It would have been wiser to just go home once she was out of that costume and done for the day, but Danielle simply couldn’t resist. Though she would never admit it to his face, Hunt was fascinating to watch when at work. She’d thought she’d never get to see it again, and though the circumstances were less than ideal, she was glad she had been wrong.

He was so focused on his work that he hadn’t even noticed her sneak back in – though, granted, she was being very quiet and careful not to draw attention – so she could easily find a spot some way away from the action and simply watch. And soon she, too, forgot about her surroundings.

Until the camera operator’s intern – Nora, if she recalled correctly – appeared next to her and asked, “So which Hottie are we looking at?”

“Huh?” She turned to the younger girl, trying not to blush though, judging by the expression on the girl’s face, she failed miserably.

Nora nodded towards Hunt and the others with a knowing smile. “You’re clearly watching someone – is it Chris? Or our new director?” She furrowed her brows. “And please tell me it’s not the guy with the ogre make-up because, I mean, I’m not one to kink-shame but…”

“I’m just watching them work, that’s all,” Danielle said in what she hoped sounded like a nonchalant way.

The girl raised an eyebrow. “Right. That makes sense. Explains why your face is bright red, too.”

“Well… I… uh…”

“Oh God, it _is_ the ogre, isn’t it?” Nora joked.

Danielle huffed. She seemed sweet and all, but there was no way she’d trust somebody she barely knew. Besides, the girl was wrong. She hadn’t been watching Hunt because he was hot – _he wasn’t!_ – but because she truly enjoyed watching him do his thing. But she had a feeling she wasn’t going to let the topic go… “Fine. Maybe… just maybe… I’m still kinda into Chris.”

“Ha!” Nora said triumphantly. “I knew it!”

“You sure did,” Danielle replied with a nod, knowing full well this lie would come to bite her in the ass one way or another. She just hoped it wouldn’t happen soon because another complication was the last thing she needed.

“So… you think you still have a shot? I mean, you two seem to be good friends so…”

Danielle sighed but resigned herself to the fact that she would no longer be able to watch in peace. “I don’t know. It didn’t really work out the first time…”

“Some people say I give pretty good advice… if you want to, you know, tell me about what you think went wrong last time.”

She forced a smile. “Maybe some other time. I’ve got to get going now, but thanks for the offer. See you around.”

And with that, she turned around and quickly made her way out of the building. A curious intern really wasn’t what she needed right now. Especially when she couldn’t be sure if the girl really was just that – or if she was working for Viktor. One way or another, Danielle got the feeling that more trouble was coming her way, and she didn’t like it one bit.


	9. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor sucks, and Danielle and Thomas are... kind of not fighting for once? Wow.

The next few days went by without any notable incidents. Of course, Danielle and Hunt butted heads here and there, as was a surprise to absolutely no one, but other than that, production of the film went rather smoothly.

Danielle didn’t talk to Nora again, either, and as far as she could tell, Nora hadn’t spoken to Chris or anyone else about what she’d told her. Which was a relief, to say the least. The last thing she needed was for anybody to catch wind of it and suggest a PR stunt that included the two leads dating. She’d been there, done that, and was never going to do it again.

All in all, Viktor’s blackmail notwithstanding, things were going well. That was, of course, until one day the next week, Viktor decided to visit the set again – and, from the moment he arrived, it was clear to Danielle that he’d come with a purpose.

Which suited her quite well, really, as it meant she may have a chance to put her plan into action. Though she most certainly didn’t look forward to it.

Fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on one’s point of view – there were still several hours of filming left, even if most everyone on set was more on edge than usual, which was to be expected with Viktor present. And, of course, he had to pick multiple fights with Hunt, which really didn’t help anyone.

Like just now, as Danielle emerged from wardrobe in a costume Viktor had not seen before, that covered up significantly more of her body than the one she’d been meant to wear originally.

“What on Earth is she wearing? This is not her costume,” he said the moment he saw her.

Hunt raised an eyebrow. “Yes, it is. You _do_ remember that I told you there would be changes made to many things, do you not?”

“I _remember_ mentioning the consequences trying to ruin this movie would have,” Viktor said, narrowing his eyes. “Her costume was perfectly fine before.”

Danielle could see Hunt grit his teeth. “The costume made no sense for her character as it would have been quite impractical in a fight – not to mention that it was grossly objectifying Miss Allen.”

“That was rather the point,” Viktor said exasperatedly. “Thomas, you know how this works. People will watch anything as long as we give them a pretty girl with little clothing.”

Danielle couldn’t believe he’d actually said that and, apparently, neither could Hunt. He looked at Viktor in a way that made her glad she wasn’t the one on the receiving end of that look, then said, “And _you_ know that that is not how _I_ work. You wanted me to work on this, and that is what I’m doing.”

“I did not hire you to be a costume designer!”

“I did not design the costume.”

Viktor huffed. “You know very well what I mean.”

“What I know is that we’ve been filming with the new costumes for the past week and that reshooting all those scenes would set us even further behind than we already are,” Hunt countered.

They stared at each other for a good few seconds more, neither willing to back down, until Viktor eventually said, “One more step out of line, Thomas, and you’ll be done for. Understood?”

Though it very clearly pained him to do so, Hunt nodded. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice, in any case. “Understood.”

There was a very uncomfortable tension on set after that, especially since Viktor didn’t leave this time, and it affected the scene they filmed quite a bit. It wasn’t good, Danielle could feel it, and Hunt was visibly annoyed by the time the fifth take still wasn’t up to his standards.

Eventually, he seemed to realise that it was no use to try again just then, and called for everybody to take a break. He disappeared in the direction of the office spaces, and after a moment of contemplation, Danielle decided to follow him.

* * *

There was no need for Thomas to turn around to know who was behind him. Only one person would dare go after him when he was, quite clearly, in a foul mood, and as much as he wanted to snap at her for not leaving him alone when he needed to think, he was almost glad she’d followed him. After all, she’d proven to be helpful before, whenever he’d been frustrated with his students on the set of _Centaurus Lost_. Perhaps she would be able to help again. That – and _only_ that – was why he didn’t mind her following him.

“You’re very bad at sneaking up on people, Miss Allen,” Thomas said without turning around.

There was a quiet huff, then she was next to him. “I wasn’t _trying_ to sneak up on you.”

A small smile formed on his lips. “Of course not.”

“Would you look at that, my presence is already improving your mood,” she said and nudged him slightly.

Thomas sighed. “I’m afraid not. Though I do believe nothing could improve my mood much today.”

She was quiet for a few moments and he didn’t have to look over at her to know she was biting her lip. He did it nonetheless and regretted it immediately. There really was no need for his thoughts to focus on the soft – or so he assumed, he wouldn’t know – flesh of her lip when there were many other things he should have been thinking about. And yet…

“I’m really sorry,” Danielle said quietly, and for a moment Thomas worried she’d guessed his thoughts. But she seemed entirely oblivious as she continued, “I know this is all my fault, and I promise I’ll fix it. I’ll get you out of this, if it’s the last thing I do.”

He had to admire her confidence – though he wasn’t sure she felt quite as confident as she wanted to make him believe – but he knew it was impossible for her to take on someone like Montmartre. She was capable of many a thing, and she’d often succeeded where others had failed – the Silver Circle being a prime example of this – but there had always been a price. And, with Montmartre, Thomas _knew_ he didn’t want her to pay it. Especially not if she was doing it for him.

“No,” he said decidedly and shook his head. “No, you won’t. I don’t like this – _believe me_ , I don’t – but there is nothing you can do.”

Danielle’s eyes narrowed – she clearly hadn’t missed the slight emphasis on the ‘you’ – and she stepped right in front of him. “What is that supposed to mean? You think I can’t do it?”

“I know you _could_ ,” he said softly. “I don’t think you _should_. Montmartre is a dangerous man, Danielle, and though I am still…” He tried to find the right word – angry wasn’t it, and though disappointed was closer, he knew it wasn’t quite what he felt – but came up short. “Even though I still believe you’ve made mistakes, I don’t want you getting hurt.”

An expression he couldn’t quite interpret flickered over her face before she put on that smug little smile – the one he knew by now was just a mask – and said, teasingly, “Aww, I knew you cared about me.”

Thomas sighed, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, and decided that the window for being open with each other had apparently closed. “Why did you follow me, Miss Allen?”

“Mostly to apologise,” she said with a shrug. “And because you’re obviously not happy with how things are going.”

“Of course I’m not,” Thomas said, affronted that she seemed surprised by this. “You must have noticed how terrible filming was going today.”

She nodded, chewing on her lower lip. “Yeah, I have. Having Viktor on set sucks.”

“You can say that again.” Thomas made a sound that could almost have been a laugh had the situation not been as it was. “I just don’t know how to dissipate this tension and get back to work.”

Danielle didn’t appear to have an answer for him and simply shrugged her shoulders.

“Perhaps it’s simply time to send everyone home for the day,” he said after a while.

She shook her head. “You pointed out how far behind we are yourself today. Maybe send _me_ home and film other scenes. It’s quite obvious that _I_ am the problem.”

“You’re _not_ ,” he said instinctively, though it was true that she and he himself were most affected by Montmartre’s presence, then added, “Montmartre is.”


	10. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas has a realisation, and there is a genuine conversation taken place between him and Danielle. But then there's also Viktor...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, it gets worse 🙃
> 
> !Warnings: Viktor being his disgusting self!

It wasn’t until he’d spoken it aloud that Thomas realised how true it rang. Not just in regards to the events of the day, but the events of the past two or so weeks. It had never been Danielle’s fault – though she most certainly could have handled things better, and it had been quite naïve of her to enter into a contract with someone like Montmartre when she knew nothing about him – and he’d been treating her most unfairly.

He recalled that night in her apartment and how, though he’d _wanted_ so badly to trust her, he simply couldn’t. He recalled asking for insurance – for blackmail material, essentially – and he recalled the box that was sitting in a desk drawer in his office at home. He’d told her he would never use what was in it against her, and he’d wanted to mean it then, but he knew he didn’t. He knew that he never could believe that she truly wasn’t out to get him, and he knew that he’d expected to find an article about him and alleged indiscretions towards his students any day.

He also knew that he, upon leaving her apartment, had had half a mind to release what he’d held in his hands right away – to be the quickest to draw – and he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so ashamed of his own thoughts before. He was, however, sure that he’d never been so relieved to not have done what he’d meant to do, then.

“Dear Lord,” he breathed, hoping she wouldn’t hear, but knowing she was paying far too much attention to his every word or action, just as she always did.

When he felt her hand on his shoulder, squeezing ever so lightly, and heard her quiet question of “Thomas, what’s wrong?”, he was afraid to lift his eyes to hers because he knew just what he’d find. Sympathy he didn’t deserve from her and worry for him. He knew, from her tone of voice and the way she used his given name, because despite the insults they’d traded on so many occasions, despite her aloofness in response to his, she’d always cared.

And just now that meant she was worried, because she always could read him well enough to know something troubled him, and to his absolute horror, it also meant that she apologised again. “I’m sorry for getting you into this. I’m so—”

“Stop,” he said, with a little more force behind it than he intended, and Danielle quieted immediately. The look of worry on her face stayed, however, and Thomas took a deep breath before he continued. “ _I_ should be apologising to _you_.”

Her eyebrows drew together in confusion and she shook her head. “No, you shouldn’t. You didn’t do anything.” She hesitated for a moment before adding, “Did you?”

“I shouldn’t have asked for it,” he said quietly, putting that confused look right back on her face. “And I certainly shouldn’t have taken it. I’ll give it back to you right after we wrap for the day, I promise.”

She seemed to realise then what he meant, and she shook her head. “You were right to ask for insurance. You couldn’t have known if I—”

“But I _should_ have,” he said urgently. “I should have known you better than that. I did – I _do_ – know you better than that.”

Danielle shook her head again, a faint smile on her lips. “Just because we’ve worked together once doesn’t mean you have to trust me. I understand. At the end of the day, I was just one of your students.”

Though he’d told her many a time while she’d been at the university – he remembered at least three distinct instances when the words ‘ _you’re just a student_ ’ had been uttered – Thomas found himself vehemently disagreeing. “You never were just a student, Danielle,” he said with a rueful smile. “You were _the_ student.”

“ _The_ student?” she asked, her tone somewhere between amused and bewildered.

He nodded. “The student. You must have noticed I tortured you a fair bit more than most of your classmates.”

“Everyone just assumed you hated me more than the others,” she said with a chuckle.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “And why did you think I did it?”

Her smile turned bashful. “I knew you were doing it to push me to succeed. You _wanted_ me to succeed.”

“I still do,” he said. It took quite a bit of effort for him to get out his next words, having been reluctant to let her know for so long. “You’ve come a long way since you walked into my classroom that first day and I – I’m proud of you.”

Danielle simply stood and stared at him for what felt like an eternity before she broke into what must have been the brightest smile he’d ever seen on her. “You are?”

“I am,” he confirmed, his lips forming a smile of his own. “Very.”

She bit her lip in an obvious attempt to tamp down her grin, which fell off her face all too soon. Thomas found he missed it immediately and wished he knew what to say to put it back on her face again. “I still screwed up. And I’m still sorry. God, Hunt, I’m so sorry.”

He bristled at the way she’d returned to calling him that after she’d used his first name earlier. It felt wrong now, somehow, and before he could stop himself, he told her as much.

“Thomas,” he said abruptly. “I think I’d prefer if you called me Thomas.”

She looked at him with a puzzled expression, then gave him a little half-smirk. “You always told me not to call you that. I remember. Hated it more than when I dropped the _Professor_ before the _Hunt_ , and that’s saying something.”

“You were my student then,” he said with a bit of a shrug.

She inclined her head and studied him for a moment too long before asking, “And what am I now?”

“You’re… you’re…” He was at a loss then, unable to find a word for it. Was she a friend? A colleague? Neither sounded quite right, but there wasn’t anything else he could think of. “I don’t know.”

The smile she gave him then was a far cry from the ones he’d received just moments ago, and he cursed himself for having brought it on. It looked sad more than anything else, and it shouldn’t have. “I thought as much,” she said, losing even that trace of a smile along the way. “Well, I suppose I’ll let you get back to work then. You’ve Zoe and Chris here, maybe you can get to reshooting that scene in the tavern cellar.”

Thomas was inclined to stop her – use his authority as a director to turn the suggestion down – but he knew they wouldn’t get anywhere if both Montmartre and she were on set, and since one of them he couldn’t make leave, he let her go. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he said, and it sounded much more like a question than he thought it should have.

“See you tomorrow,” Danielle said and left him standing there by himself.

* * *

She was glad no one was in the room when she got to wardrobe because she wasn’t sure she could stand having company just now. It was a strange feeling that she had – nothing bad had happened, after all – but it wasn’t as if she could help it. Those knots in her stomach were there for one reason or another, and they weren’t going to go away just like that.

Perhaps once she got home, and made herself a nice cup of hot chocolate with loads of whipped cream and a few marshmallows, they would go away. Or at least be replaced with a proper stomach ache.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like that was going to happen anytime soon, as there was a knock on the door before she could even get started on taking off her costume. She closed her eyes for a moment, then called out, “I’m going home, Hunt. You won’t change my mind.”

It wasn’t Hunt, though, and she supposed she might’ve known if she hadn’t been so in her head. No, the person she saw step into the room when she glanced at the door was, of course, Viktor.

She very much did not feel like dealing with him at the moment, but it was just as well, since she wanted to free Hunt of his blackmail more than ever now. She turned fully towards him, a forced smile on her lips. “I was just going to get out of my costume,” she said, noting the gleam in his eye and trying very hard not to shudder. “We’ve decided it’s best to proceed with another scene, as this one clearly didn’t work today.”

“ _We_ , is it?” Viktor remarked, an eyebrow raised.

Danielle bit back a sigh. “Well, I guess it was more Hunt’s decision than mine. But I agree,” she half-lied.

Viktor hummed. “I suppose that means you’re free for the rest of the day, does it?”

An unpleasant shiver ran down her spine at that, but she nodded, trying to find another smile in her. It wasn’t convincing by any means, but Viktor didn’t appear to notice, or if he did, he didn’t care. “I suppose it does.”

There was a moment of silence during which he almost seemed to be waiting for something. Eventually, he said, “Do you need help getting out of that?”

Danielle swallowed as he stepped closer, but she didn’t tell him no just yet. It wouldn’t do to make him angry, not if she wanted to go through with her plan. Which she had every intention of doing.

She startled when she felt his hand on her back, fiddling with the top button. There was a chuckle that may as well have come from a Bond villain as far as she was concerned, but she let him go on until he’d undone all the buttons. His hand found its way inside the garment, and that was where she stopped him.

“Viktor,” she said as softly as she could manage, trying for a tone somewhere between disappointed and seductive, “Not here.”

Here would have been marginally safer, she knew. There were people not too far that she could call out to, but just the thought of Hunt walking in and finding them had her feeling sick for reasons she couldn’t bear examining just now. She knew why, though, after that talk they’d had. She knew very well.

Viktor clucked his tongue behind her, startling her yet again, before he said, “Will you accompany me to lunch, then?”

It wasn’t a question or invitation, Danielle knew. She made herself put on the smile that had slipped when she’d felt his hands on her and turned back to him. “Of course.”

“Then I shall leave you to it,” he said with a vaguely triumphant grin. “I’ll meet you out front.”

She gave a quick nod, and Viktor blessedly slipped out of the room again, closing the door behind him. Once he was gone, she took a moment to sit down and calm herself. She’d never have admitted it to anyone, really, but she was scared shitless. Because even though she had a plan – and all arrangements had already been made, luckily – there was no guarantee that it would work.

Eventually – she wasn’t quite sure how long it took her to compose herself and she only hoped it wasn’t so long as to make Viktor suspicious – she quickly took off her costume and got into her everyday clothes. She was glad that she’d chosen a fairly form-fitting dress for the day, if not originally intended for Viktor’s benefit but rather someone else’s, and decided that it would do just fine.

She took another moment, perhaps a minute, before she went to meet Viktor. She took a longer way to the front gate than necessary so as to not run into Hunt, and perhaps to give her even more time, but found him standing by his town car.

“I’d almost begun to wonder if you’d run away,” he said, though he seemed to be teasing rather than suspicious.

Danielle was glad for it and responded in kind, “Well, perhaps I should have asked you to stay and help me out of the costume.”

The gleam in his eye was as predatory as his grin and Danielle suppressed the urge to throw up. “I should have quite liked that.” He took another good look at her, then turned to open the door of the car. “But I suppose I won’t have to wait much longer now, will I?”

She steeled herself with a good, deep breath, and then climbed into the car, Viktor following right after. “No,” she said, rather quietly. “Not much longer.”

Once the door was closed, the driver started the engine, clearly having received instructions as to where they were going before Danielle had got into the car. She briefly wondered if that should worry her, but decided that it couldn’t be helped now, anyway. She only hoped they were going where she’d thought they would.

Just as they drove off, she chanced another look out of the window, and her heart nearly stopped upon seeing Hunt standing right there, having quite obviously seen her get into the car. She tried her best to ignore the crestfallen expression on his face – though she supposed the sight would be burned into her brain until the end of her days, heart-breaking as it was – and consoled herself with the knowledge that he’d understand tomorrow.


	11. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something akin to negotiations between Viktor and Danielle, except a lot more disgusting and quite unprofessional. Also, Hunt is not happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not the worst of it, my darlings... still not the worst... (Yes, I hate myself, too.)

To her surprise, Viktor did take her to lunch first, at some fancy restaurant she’d never managed to get a reservation at before, and Danielle got the impression he was trying to feel her out. Maybe he suspected something was off, after all. He didn’t let on whether or not he knew of her plans, however, and she simply sat and waited for him to speak. Which he did after he ordered them a dish Danielle was almost certain she wouldn’t enjoy.

“You want something from me,” Viktor stated once the waiter was out of sight.

Danielle swallowed hard. “Don’t _you_ want something from _me_?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, nodding. “You’re not getting out of your contract if that’s what you were thinking of asking.”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t.”

“It’s Hunt, then,” he said, once again observing rather than asking.

She thought about it for a moment, wondering if it would be wise to just outright tell him, or if she should play dumb. She decided on the former. Viktor wasn’t stupid, after all, and he wouldn’t believe for a second that she didn’t have an agenda. “Yes.”

“You want me to let him go.”

Well, that, at least, he didn’t get quite right. Though, in the end, the result would be the same. “I want you to get rid of what you have on him.”

Viktor narrowed his eyes. “Which would result in him walking away. You know he didn’t sign a contract.”

She hadn’t known, though she’d suspected. “Maybe.”

“And you trust me to keep my word, were I to give it?” he asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Danielle shrugged. She trusted him as far as she could throw him, but she wouldn’t let him know that. “You’ve not released the photos yet, so I’m inclined to believe you’re a man of your word.”

He seemed to be mulling it over for a few seconds, then nodded. “Very well, I shall destroy what I have in return for your… services.”

She shuddered at the way he said it, but there was nothing for it now. Besides, she’d made the decision days ago already. Everything was in place.

“I have another request,” she said after a moment.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, and she could see plainly that he still doubted her intentions. “My, you’re quite demanding, aren’t you?”

“It’s nothing you should have a problem with,” she said, fighting the bile threatening to rise in her throat. This was the important bit, wasn’t it? The one thing she needed him to agree to. “Could we go to your office? I’ve always wanted to be fucked against a window overlooking the city.”

His eyes widened for a moment, and he had that predatory look to him again. But that was just fine because Danielle could see that that remainder of suspicion he’d had, had disappeared. He took a sip of his water, then leaned back in his chair with that villainous smile of his. “I believe we have a deal.”

* * *

The pang Thomas felt in his chest when he saw Danielle get into the car with Montmartre told him everything he needed to know. He’d been fooled – and, oh, what a fool he was! – by her. He’d let his affections, however unwelcome they were in the first place, blind him to the truth.

Less than an hour ago, he’d convinced himself of her innocence – and he’d been quite convinced because he’d thought he knew her – and now she’d gone and shattered any hope he’d allowed himself.

She was in cahoots with Montmartre, he could see it now. She’d likely been from the very start, and her story about his niece and the wallet must’ve been designed to tug at his heartstrings – make him believe he meant more to her than he did. And he’d been stupid enough to believe it. She’d played him like a fiddle when she’d come to see if he was all right earlier, manipulated him into showing her he cared, and he’d let her.

And now that she had what she wanted, she’d gone off with Montmartre again – to celebrate, he imagined. The thought had his stomach turning over, and suddenly he couldn’t bear being on this godforsaken film set for another minute. He knew, soon enough, he’d never have to be again. He’d make sure of it.

Calling himself every word for idiot he could think of, Thomas went back inside for as short a moment as he could, calling out to the first person he found to send everybody home. He was only half-aware of the fact that he drove quite a bit over the speed limit on his way back to his house, but he just needed to get home before he fell apart. Which he promptly did, the moment he closed his door behind him.

But he had to pick himself up again, and soon. There was a call he needed to make.


	12. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas did a bad thing and Danielle is not amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d say I’m sorry but my mum told me lying was bad so...

Halfway through their lunch, Viktor received a call from his secretary that had him leave right away. He’d assured her that he would call on her again soon, and that their plans were simply postponed rather than cancelled, but Danielle knew better. She’d heard the woman on the other end of the line talking about a security leak at the office, and she wasn’t naïve enough to think it was a coincidence. No, somebody was meddling with her plans, and she had a pretty damn good idea who.

She finished her lunch first – it tasted much better than when Viktor had sat opposite her – before she called a cab to take her home. She needed to take care of this, she knew, and perhaps she should have gone by his place first, but she had a sneaking suspicion that he would be waiting by her apartment door, ready to scold her for what she’d planned to do.

Unsurprisingly, she was right. As she stepped out of the elevator, she found him standing just where she’d imagined, looking not even a smidge contrite. “Ethan.”

“Danielle,” her agent – because he was most certainly not here as her friend just now – returned before he went in on her. “You are, without a doubt, the absolutely dumbest person I’ve ever met in my entire career – no, my entire life.”

She huffed and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Could we go inside for this?”

“Oh, we better. Because you’re going to want to sit the fuck down,” Ethan said severely, and she got the feeling that perhaps this wasn’t _just_ about her plan.

He went in ahead of her once she had the door unlocked and motioned for her to sit on the couch. She didn’t put up a fight, throwing herself onto the cushions. “I was handling it, you know,” she said, fully aware that she sounded like a kid.

“You were getting yourself into a dangerous situation is what you were doing,” Ethan countered and it was obvious it cost him a great deal of effort to speak as calmly as he did. He sat down in the chair across from her. “What were you thinking, Dani?”

She didn’t answer his question and she figured he didn’t need her to, anyway. He knew damn well what she’d been thinking and why. “How did you know, anyway?”

“You were seen leaving with Viktor. I knew you had to be up to something.”

“Who told you that—” She didn’t need to finish her question, knowing the answer already, and groaned. “Nora.”

She had been right to be wary, then. Just not for the reasons she’d thought.

“I had to have somebody keep tabs on you, didn’t I?” Ethan said. “Clearly, I was right.”

Danielle huffed again. “It would have been just fine. And it still doesn’t explain how you knew to call the leak in.”

“We’ve known each other for a while, Dani, and I’m familiar with the way you operate. I called Dean, and he told me about the cameras.” He shrugged. “The rest wasn’t all that hard to figure out.”

She sighed. “Well, I guess there’s nothing I can do to change what you’ve done. I’ll just have to figure out a new to—”

“I doubt you’re going to want to do that,” Ethan interrupted with a shake of his head. “Not after what I have to show you.”

Danielle looked at him questioningly as he opened his messenger bag and took out a dreadfully familiar cardboard box. Her voice trembled when she asked, “Where did you get that?”

She knew, of course, where he’d got it. She knew, deep down, but she couldn’t believe it. She didn’t _want to_ believe it. But he held the box out to her and that could only mean one thing.

“You’re lucky Hunt gave it to one of my contacts rather than anyone else, or this would be down at the police station right about now,” Ethan said, and her heart sank further upon hearing it. “He was going to release it all, Danielle. He was going to ruin you.”

* * *

Thomas was about three sheets to the wind by the time he heard the doorbell ring and he couldn’t be entirely certain whether it was real or he’d only imagined it. Either way, he figured, it couldn’t hurt to check.

That assumption turned out to be gravely wrong, however, when he opened the door to see none other than Danielle Allen on the other side and felt like someone had reached right into his chest and ripped his heart out. She was quite clearly furious, if her expression was anything to go by, and it took him a few more seconds to notice the box in her hands.

“So that was a trick, too?” he said – or, at least, he hoped that was what he said because his speech wasn’t quite so clear as he wished it to be. It didn’t matter anyway, he thought, he would just slam the door in her face and go back to pour himself another glass of Scotch. Thinking about just how she’d got her hands on that box again, and why she’d brought it to him, could wait until tomorrow morning. Or perhaps the late afternoon, as he wasn’t so sure he’d be good for anything before then.

Just now, all he knew was that, of course, she’d tricked him again. He should have realised that she wouldn’t have given him the bloody thing if she hadn’t had a way to keep its contents from being released. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But, again, further examination of that train of thought would have to wait. He made to shut the door only to realise that Danielle had already pushed past him and was standing in his entryway expectantly.

“Sure, come in, make yourself at home,” he grumbled as he closed the door and led her to the lounge. He hadn’t the energy nor the inclination to throw her out, and she wouldn’t have let him in any case.

He sat back down on his sofa – though perhaps it was an action far less graceful than sitting down – and motioned for her to sit opposite him. She remained standing and set the box down on his coffee table, right next to where his half-empty bottle of Scotch stood. Hadn’t it been nearly full earlier? Surely, he hadn’t had that much of it. Perhaps he simply misremembered.

“You’re drunk,” Danielle stated, as if it wasn’t obvious, and Thomas knew very well it wasn’t what she’d meant to say to him first thing.

He simply shrugged but didn’t answer. She wouldn’t have understood what he would have said, anyway, at least not without difficulty.

“I’m not having this discussion with you when you can’t even fucking think properly,” she told him, and he felt like a little child being scolded. She had no right to make him feel that way, she didn’t. “How much have you had to drink?”

“D’ know,” he said, and this time he knew he wasn’t articulating his words properly.

She let out a sigh then turned her attention to the bottle on the coffee table, picking it up, along with what appeared to be a little piece of plastic of some sort next to it. Had the bottle been unopened? Perhaps it had. “Christ, Hunt,” she said exasperatedly and it did nothing to make him feel less like a little boy. “You’re steaming drunk, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” he replied, only half aware of how much he sounded like an indignant child. Perhaps she was right to treat him as such.

She huffed, muttering something to herself that sounded suspiciously like, “Great, just what I wanted to do with my night.”

Thomas didn’t see where she went, feeling as if he would throw up if he turned his head too sharply, but he supposed that was her intention when she returned without the bottle. As if he couldn’t find more alcohol in his own bloody house if he’d had a mind to! Just now, though, he felt rather queasy, and he didn’t think he’d have another glass after all.

“Get up,” she ordered, standing right in front of him again.

He shook his head. The wave of nausea that followed made him wish he hadn’t.

Danielle rolled her eyes before telling him, very slowly, “I’m going to help you up and take you to the bathroom. You’re going to thank me tomorrow for saving your stupid fancy furniture.”

He highly doubted he would but, then again, he doubted just about everything that came out of her mouth after today. Nonetheless, he let her take his hands and pull him up – slowly, which was one thing he would have thanked her for were he not sure he was angry with her for one reason or another – and he let her lead him to the bathroom.

They got there just in time for him to lurch towards the toilet and empty the contents of his stomach into the bowl. She didn’t come with him to hold his hair or rub his back as he’d imagined a friend would have but rather stood in the doorway, arms crossed and watching him as if he would run away first chance he got.

He might’ve, had he been able, with the way she’d looked at him when he’d opened the door. He wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t murder him in his sleep. Then again, he imagined that couldn’t possibly be good for her career, either, so she likely wouldn’t chance it.

“Are you done?” she asked eventually, and Thomas made a noise somewhere between an amused snort and a pained laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes. Do you need help getting up?”

She sounded so bored with it all, as if she couldn’t care less about how he was, and he supposed that was the case.

“I can get up by myself,” he muttered, knowing full well it would have been far easier to just let her help. With a bit of effort, he managed, and he went over to the sink to clean himself up as well as he could.

She put her hand on his upper arm again then, non-too-gently leading him to his bedroom. He didn’t ask how she knew where it was – a memory of one of his end-of-term dinner parties surfacing in the back of his mind. He wasn’t in the least surprised to learn that she’d quite clearly been snooping around when he hadn’t looked.

“I’m going to see to it that you’re not going to drown yourself in your vomit,” she said as she pushed him towards the bed. “You’re not getting out of this.”

He didn’t see the need to answer and simply laid down – he intended to hold onto whatever dignity he had left and would not strip down in front of her – and pulled the blanket over himself.

Danielle knelt down by his bedside, making sure her eyes were level with his when she said sternly, “We _are_ going to have that talk tomorrow, Hunt.”

Thomas didn’t think there was a point in arguing, and he would have been too tired to do so, anyway. “We’ll talk,” he mumbled in return. “We will.”

He saw her expression soften then, just before he closed his eyes, and he could have sworn he felt her hand brush a strand of hair out of his face as he drifted off to sleep.


	13. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and Danielle talk... kind of, anyway. We finally find out what's in that bloody box, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-huh. Yeah. Remember when I said Hollywood U levels of insanity? Mhm.

Thomas woke to a pounding headache and the smell of bacon. The former made sense – he remembered drinking quite a bit before he presumably passed out – but the latter only confused him. He wondered if he’d attempted to make himself dinner, which would have been a terrible idea considering the state he must have been in, and left the stove on. It didn’t smell burnt, though.

With a sigh, Thomas got out of his bed, noting that he hadn’t even bothered to change out of his clothes – and decided to make his way to the kitchen to see what was going on. He wasn’t surprised to see it was dark out when he passed the window in the hall – he’d begun his binge some time shortly after noon if he recalled correctly – but what he was surprised by was the person standing at the stove, frying several strips of bacon and two eggs.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice sounding far too loud against his headache.

Danielle turned around, arms folded in front of her chest. “You don’t remember, do you?”

He shook his head and regretted it right away when a stab of pain shot through him.

“I’m not surprised,” she said, turning back to check on the food. “You’d had over half a bottle of Scotch before I found you.” She thought on that for a moment. “At least. It’s all I found evidence of, anyway.”

Thomas cringed. He knew it must have been more as he was quite sure he’d only moved on to the fresh bottle when the other one had been emptied. He didn’t even want to think about what state she had found him in, and so he decided he wouldn’t. If there was something he’d said or done that was of importance, she would likely make sure to tell him. “I see.” He sat down at the island counter, where a glass of water and two aspirins sat. “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

“Take them,” she said, still not giving him an answer. “How do you like your eggs? And how crispy should your bacon be?”

Thomas raised an eyebrow, though he knew she couldn’t see, and asked, “You’re making food for me?” He was fairly sure he knew why she was here – he’d turned everything he’d had on her over to the tabloids after all – and he found it quite suspicious that she would be kind enough to feed him and help relieve his hangover. “You wouldn’t be trying to poison me, would you?”

She turned with an exasperated sigh. “No, Hunt, I’m not trying to poison you. I’m going to make sure you’re of sound mind when I rip you a new one.”

“Ah,” he said, as if it was a perfectly normal thing for her to tell him. He supposed it wasn’t an entirely surprising reaction after what he’d done yesterday – or perhaps earlier today, he wasn’t quite sure what time it was – and it wasn’t like he was unwilling to speak to her about it. He did have a few choice words of his own for her, and he would make sure she would receive them, as well. But, first, he would eat. “Over easy and just don’t let the bacon turn into a brick.”

She nodded and went back to focusing on the frying pan. He remained silent, then, and decided to take one aspirin. He hoped it would help, and he was inclined to believe it would as his headache had already begun to fade before he’d taken it.

Not much later, Danielle put a plate with food down in front of him, and he didn’t have to be asked twice to dig in. He was hungry, after all, and he was relatively sure that he hadn’t eaten before he’d decided to drink himself into oblivion. Which had made it that much easier to achieve just that, and that much worse when he woke up just now. In any case, he thanked his lucky stars that Danielle had decided it would be appropriate to give him food in this situation, no matter her intentions.

She leaned back against the counter next to the stove, nibbling on a strip of bacon that was almost completely black as she watched him eat. He didn’t comment on how uncomfortable it made him to have her watch him so closely, and he certainly didn’t comment on the fact that his mind had – however briefly – entertained the idea of the two of them eating in his kitchen under different circumstances.

When he was done eating, Thomas wasn’t quite sure what to say. He felt he should have thanked her for the food – and, presumably, taking care of him before he passed out – but, somehow, he doubted she would appreciate it.

“You’re done?” she said, and though it was posed as a question, he knew she wasn’t asking.

He answered nonetheless. “I’m done.”

“Good," she said with a nod, and she suddenly looked terribly sad. Thomas tried not to feel bad about it – she deserved to be sad, for heaven’s sake – but it proved harder than he thought. “Good. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

He did as she instructed, remaining just where he’d sat since he came into the kitchen, and waited for her to return. When she did, he immediately saw the cardboard box in her hands, and his heart nearly stopped. “Why do you have that?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, her expression even sadder than it had been when she’d left to retrieve the box. She put it down on the counter, moving his plate to the side to make room. “Why did you do it, Thomas? Why did you want to get rid of me?”

He noted the way she’d used his given name again – not affectionately, this time, but the way she sometimes had when she’d intended to have a serious conversation with him. He’d expected a fight – screaming and yelling and insults – but it didn’t seem that that was what she’d come for. It unsettled him to no small degree.

“Because you were going to do the same to me,” he said weakly.

She narrowed her eyes at him, tilting her head to one side. After taking a moment to think, she spoke. “I wasn’t. I still won’t,” she told him, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Another lie, surely. “What changed after we talked? I thought we were on the same page.”

“I saw you. With Montmartre,” he said, and by the way her expression didn’t change, he knew that this was not news to her. So why did she ask then? If she was aware that he knew, why wouldn’t it be obvious to her?

She let out a sigh. “So, what? You’re telling me it didn’t occur to you that there’s more than one reason I might have gone with him? Hell, he could have _made_ me go with him.”

“You were flirting with him, I heard. You two are… you are—”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” she exclaimed, finally displaying the anger he’d expected. “Are you trying to say you thought sending me to prison was a reasonable action because you were _jealous_?”

Thomas thought he ought to have been outraged at the assumption that it had been jealousy that drove him to hand the material over, but there was a much more interesting point in what she’d said that he needed to address first. “Sending you to prison? You’re being overly dramatic. If – and that’s a big if, mind you – you’d have been prosecuted at all, it would have been for negligence at worst. And you were a student at the time, you would—"

“You never even bothered to look through what’s in here, did you?” she interrupted, nudging the box closer towards him. “Go on, take a look.”

“Well, I saw the settlement agreement between the university and him, and…” He blanched. It was true, he had no idea what was in that box.

Danielle nodded knowingly. “It’s my signature on that contract.” Thomas felt like the rug was being pulled out from under him. “It’s my signature on all of it.”

* * *

It was obvious, from the look on his face, that this was new information to him, and she almost felt some of her ire lift, but he’d still done what he’d done, whether getting her behind bars had been his intention or not. Danielle could see his hand tremble as he reached for the box and lifted the lid off.

The first thing he took out was the settlement agreement with the victim, drawn up by the university’s lawyers. But the university had been kept out of it entirely, and it was only Danielle’s and the victim’s signature on it. Ethan had advised her back then not to let the university handle it, and if she’d listened to him, Thomas would have been right. She’d have got off lightly – because she knew that, technically, it hadn’t been her fault – and as she’d been little more than a student back then, it wouldn’t have impacted her career much, either.

But she hadn’t listened to Ethan, and she’d let the university pay him off – all in her name because, officially, the university took no responsibility for anything that happened on set of their students’ film productions – and she knew it made her look guiltier than she was.

Hunt’s quiet gasp when he reached the last page and saw that it was, indeed, her signature on the contract made her look up. He simply looked back at her, stunned, before he reached into the box again to take out another sheaf of papers.

The one on top she recognised as well – she’d signed off on everything being safe just the morning of the accident. She hadn’t checked it herself – hadn’t had the time because she’d stayed up all night working on an essay for Professor Singh – but she’d been stupid enough to trust that the freshman she’d tasked with checking everything would do so diligently. If only she’d taken the extra time to make sure… they would have known to wait until that beam had been properly secured, and nobody would have been hurt.

It was clear from the shock on Hunt’s face that this was another detail he hadn’t known of. “I thought it happened because you didn’t check everything that day.”

“It did,” she told him, trying not to be offended by the fact that he’d insinuated she might have known and simply not cared. “I signed off on it, anyway.”

She could tell he had a reproach on the tip of his tongue, but he kept quiet, and she was glad for it. She didn’t need anyone to tell her how careless she’d been – she felt guilty enough as it was. Instead, he put the piece of paper to the side and looked at the next one. It wasn’t any better. In fact, this one, she thought, was perhaps the worst of all. It had been her list of who would be doing what that day, and she’d assigned him to operate the camera just beneath that steel beam.

“It looks like premeditation,” he said, looking back up at her. “Danielle, if you hadn’t caught this before… if I’d… you could have been convicted with attempted murder.”

“There’s more in there.”

Hunt shook his head. “I don’t want to see it. I know it wasn’t that.”

“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” she said, looking down at her hands. “He…” She took a deep breath. “ _Carson_ could have died, and it would have been my fault.”

Hunt shook his head again, more vehemently this time. She imagined it couldn’t have been feeling good, considering his massive hangover. “But nobody died. And you weren’t anywhere near experienced enough to know. Even if you’d checked everything, you could have missed it.”

“ _It was my responsibility_ ,” she insisted. She wasn’t quite sure how the conversation had taken such a turn – she hadn’t come to talk about her guilt or any of this, really, but just to confront him and find out just why he’d done what he’d done.

She didn’t notice she’d started crying until she felt a hand on her arm, squeezing ever so slightly. She recognised the gesture as something she’d done to calm him many times before, and her tears came even harder then.

“Danielle, I’ve disagreed with this policy since I’ve started teaching at the university,” he told her. “I’ve wanted projects supervised by experts for a long time. Only putting students who don’t know their craft yet to work – and in fields they may have even less experience, at that! – has never sat right with me.”

She didn’t argue with that – he had a point, after all, though it didn’t change a thing about her feelings towards it all – but decided to go back to their original conversation. The reason she’d come here in the first place. “You were going to have me put behind bars for it, anyway.”

This statement seemed to wipe any trace of sympathy he’d had for her away and he withdrew his hand from her arm, letting it fall to his side. “I didn’t know.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Danielle said with a shake of her head. “It doesn’t. If anything, it just makes it worse – that you didn’t even _know_ what was in there; that your only goal was to hurt me. And for what? Because you thought I had a thing with Viktor?”

“Because I know you’re working with him!” Hunt accused, slapping one hand down on the stone counter. She could tell from the expression on his face that it had hurt him, and she couldn’t find it in her to care. He really thought she could have done that, after everything? That, more than anything he’d said to her since she’d known him, hurt somewhere deep in her chest.

She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat. Then, very quietly, she said, “But I’m not. I was just… I was just going to fix things. I was going to fix everything.”


	14. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunt and Danielle's conversation continues...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure y'all are smart enough to know this but, um, Danielle is kind of an idiot and her idea was a very, very bad one. So, like, don't do that.

Thomas wanted to believe her more than anything in the world as she stood before him, looking so utterly miserable. He so wanted to reach out and take her into his arms, tell her he was sorry and beg for her forgiveness, but he needed answers first, and irrefutable ones at that. He wouldn’t let her fool him with a trembling lip and a voice no louder than a whisper again. It could have very well been another act. He was tempted to believe her without so much as an explanation, now that he’d looked at the contents of the box, wondering why she would have given something that could have landed her in prison for life to him if she’d thought there was any chance he’d release it. But that was just it – it could have been a well-calculated risk, knowing him as she did. Perhaps she’d thought he wouldn’t be that cruel and, had he known just how incriminating the evidence was, she would have been right. He would have burned the whole thing and never even thought about releasing any of it.

“How?” he asked her. “How were you going to fix anything by going with him?”

Danielle looked away and began chewing on her lip. “I offered him a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” Thomas asked, though he could imagine.

She huffed, still not meeting his eyes. “The kind he would have accepted. Asked him to get rid of what he has on you.”

“And you thought he’d uphold such a deal, did you?” He couldn’t believe she’d be quite so naïve. Then again, if what she was saying was true, she’d already proven how naïve she was by entering into a contract with Montmartre in the first place.

Danielle made a noise that wasn’t quite a laugh but was perhaps supposed to be one. “No, I didn’t think he would.”

“Then why—”

“He needed to believe me, didn’t he? I couldn’t have him be suspicious,” she explained, her hands fiddling with the hem of her dress. “Would have worked if Ethan hadn’t interfered, too, I’m sure.”

There was a knot forming in his stomach as Thomas started to piece everything together, though he didn’t understand quite yet. “What would have worked?”

“I had Dean call in some favours. Got into the security cameras in his office. We would have had the footage, then,” she told him and he felt like he was going to throw up. He almost wished he hadn’t eaten just now. “It would have worked, _I know it_.”

Thomas was once again floored by just how naïve she appeared to be. “It wouldn’t have. I’m certain he’s had people try to blackmail him like this before, Danielle, you wouldn’t have been the first one. You would have—”

“You don’t understand,” she interrupted him, and he did have to stop speaking to hear her, her voice having gone quieter again. “I’d have told him I’ve changed my mind. I’d have asked him to stop.”

That made even less sense to him. How would that have helped anyone? Let alone her, because if there was one thing Thomas was sure about, it was that Montmartre would not have cared a bit. “Danielle, I don’t think…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t think he would have listened.”

She finally looked up at him when she spoke, holding his gaze. “I know. I was counting on it.”

It was then that the penny dropped and Thomas gained a new appreciation for Mr Blake, who, as it appeared, had prevented what would have been a rather ugly outcome to Danielle’s insane plan. “No. No, that’s not – no, you – no.”

“It’s the only way I could think of that would have stopped him for good,” she said, clearly trying for a nonchalant tone but he knew better.

The trembling of her lower lip caught his eye and before he could change his mind or she could protest, he’d rounded the counter and wrapped her up in a tight embrace. It was no later than her face was buried between his neck and his shoulder that tears began to fall from her eyes again, and Thomas could feel them soak through his shirt.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered into her hair, the endearment slipping out unbidden but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. “What were you thinking?”

She sobbed against him once more before she told him, her voice barely above a breath, “I just wanted to fix everything.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her she wouldn’t have fixed anything – that she would have only put herself in harm’s way – but he found it would be best to wait to tell her that. So he simply pulled her closer then, resting his chin on top of her head, and whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know, Danielle, I didn’t know.”

He’d never felt quite so terrible about not having had all the facts, and he cursed himself for not having talked to her before he’d gone and tried to ruin her life. He almost couldn’t believe he’d acted in such an impulsive way but, then again, it wasn’t so usual for him to have any type of feeling that could cloud his judgement. And the disappointment – the betrayal – he’d felt when he’d seen her go with Montmartre had been one hell of a cloud.

* * *

Danielle wasn’t sure just how she had ended up in Hunt’s arms after the day they’d had, but she most certainly was not going to complain. He was warm and comforting and she wished she’d never have to leave his embrace again. Unfortunately, she knew he had more words for her – a proper scolding about how stupid she was, and how wrong it would have been to go through with what she’d planned – but just now she decided to cling to him a little while longer, at the very least until her tears would subside.

Eventually, they did, and she pulled back a little, feeling that Hunt was just as reluctant to let go as she was. He did, though, once she took a step back, and she couldn’t help feeling a little bereft. She had half a mind to just step back into his arms again right away and clasped her hands behind her back to stop her from doing so.

“Are you all right?” Hunt asked before she could even get a word out.

She nodded. “I am. I’m fine,” she confirmed, taking a moment to consider her next words. “I would have been fine, too,

“Maybe so,” he said, though the exasperated look that told her he didn’t believe that in the slightest didn’t escape her. “But it was a bad idea all around.”

Danielle huffed. “Was it? You _just_ told me you didn’t think he would have listened. You _know_ he’s a creep and a… a fucking predator. _You know_.”

“There’s a difference between suspecting and having proof,” he argued, his eyes pleading with her to understand.

And she did understand, which made it all the more infuriating. “I could have provided proof!”

“And what if your plan backfired?” he asked, his voice raised now. “What if someone found out what you’ve done?”

She didn’t have an answer for that. “Well, I…”

“At best, it would have been a crime in and of itself,” Hunt said, shaking his head. He spoke quietly now, his voice serious. “At worst, your actions would have discredited any real case that could be made against him. You would have discredited his victims.”

He was right, she knew. It would have been wrong in many ways, but she was so sure it would have worked, and if it had, they’d have had a way to make him go away for good. Not just for their sake, but for everybody else’s, too. “What was I supposed to do, then?” Danielle asked. “Wait for some other young actress to fall into his trap for real and hope to catch it on camera?” She shook her head. “That doesn’t sound like the height of morality to me.”

“There has to be another way, Danielle,” he said and she felt like a chided child.

Hanging her head, she said quietly, “It wouldn’t have just been for you, you know.”

“I know,” he assured her. She could see him lift his hand from the corner of her eye, letting it hover above her shoulder before he took it back, not touching her. “He will get his just deserts one day. He will. But not like this, sweetheart. Not like this.”

She hadn’t been sure if he’d noticed he’d called her that earlier, but this time she was. This time it was intentional, and she felt her heart flutter the tiniest bit. It didn’t change anything about the situation, though, and she sighed. “It’s not like I could try it again, anyway.”

“Good,” Hunt said with a nod, and then she felt his hand on her shoulder after all. “I’ll do anything in my power to help you bring Montmartre down if that’s what you wish to do. This time, I’ll be there to help.”

There wasn’t much of a choice but to accept that that was the best option now, and she nodded. “Okay. We will find a way to get you out of this project, and we will find a way to bring Viktor down. Whichever comes first,” she said determinedly.

“We will,” he agreed and gave her a small smile.

Danielle returned that smile, then, feeling as if now was the time to lighten the mood, said, “I do have one question, though.”

Hunt regarded her, eyes narrowed, and she was sure her semi-cheerful tone had made him suspicious. “What kind of question?”

“ _Were_ you jealous?”

The smile that tugged at one corner of his lips – though it never quite made it into a full smile – told her everything she needed to know. He didn’t dignify her with an answer, though, and instead asked her, “How would you feel about a little campfire in the backyard?”

“A campfire?” she asked, furrowing her brow.

He grinned then and nodded to the box and papers that still lay on the counter. “We better get rid of those, don’t we?”

“Can we make s’mores, too?”

Hunt chuckled. “I’m afraid I’m all out of marshmallows.”

“I suppose just warming our hands over it will do,” she said as she put everything back into the box and tucked the thing under her arm to carry it outside.


	15. Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunt and Danielle talk more!!! Is it a pleasant conversation? Eh, it’s Danielle and Hunt so... probably not tbh. Guess we’ll see.

It was dark still when they went out into the backyard – just after three in the morning, according to Danielle’s phone, which she had to use as a flashlight to find their way to the fire pit. The secluded little area was, of course, far too sophisticated to call any fire made there a campfire, with the pit’s sleek stone rim and the undoubtedly expensive set of outdoor lounge furniture surrounding it, but she’d have expected nothing less. Even with the comfort of a chest filled with dry firewood and a small box of wood shavings to serve as tinder, though, it took Hunt several tries to get the fire burning.

Briefly, Danielle had considered offering to make the fire instead, knowing it would have taken her half the time it had him, but he was quite adorable to look at, and the little triumphant grin on his face once he finally succeeded made the wait well worth it.

“I should have let that interior decorator install an indoor fireplace like he wanted to,” Hunt grumbled as he opened up a black wicker chest that served as a coffee table and took out several slate grey cushions, handing them to her. “But I didn’t know I’d have to burn potential blackmail material in the dead of night one day.”

Danielle chuckled and placed the cushions on the wicker sofa. “Let the record show that burning it was your idea, not mine. I could have taken the box back with me and destroyed all of it myself.”

“Mhm, and you’d have done just that?” Hunt raised a questioning eyebrow, making it known that he didn’t believe she would have for one second.

She scoffed. “Well, I _did_ delete all those photos I showed you. And those I didn’t show you.”

“You did?” he asked, seeming genuinely surprised. “You’ve let me keep this even though you didn’t have any of the pictures anymore?”

Danielle shrugged. “I still have the ones Viktor has. They’re still in my wallet, and I’d say they’re pretty bad.”

“Yes, but—”

She interrupted him, unwilling to talk about the fact she’d trusted him blindly when, clearly, she shouldn’t have, and nodded to the fire. “More kindling, Hunt, if you don’t want it to go out again.”

With a sigh, he went to fetch some smaller pieces of wood and added them to the fire. He was silent for a moment, looking into the flames, before he turned back to Danielle. “I should have talked to you. Before… I should have talked to you.”

“You should have,” she said with a firm nod, then sat down on the wicker sofa. The cushions were surprisingly soft and comfortable, considering it was outdoor furniture. Then again, she really shouldn’t have been surprised by it. It was Hunt’s, after all, and she couldn’t imagine Hunt voluntarily subjecting himself to uncomfortable seating – whether it was in- or outdoors. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway. You can’t change what you did, and all we can do is be glad Ethan has as many contacts as he does.”

Hunt threw another piece of wood into the fire, then came over to sit down next to her though he made sure there was a good bit of space between them. “It _does_ matter. I overreacted because I was hurt, and I could have ruined your life. Hell, I _wanted_ to ruin your life, and I… I don’t know how to make up for that.”

“Then why, Hunt? I’ve fucked you over a million times, I _know_ that, and you could have very well ruined my life back when I was in university. So what changed? Why do it now?” She shook her head. “If we must talk about it, just tell me _why_.”

He was quiet for a short while, then swallowed hard. “It was different this time, I suppose. We’d just talked… and I… you made a point when we spoke, that I hadn’t considered before.”

“What point?” she asked, trying to recall their conversation. It had been less than a day ago, but it seemed so far away. What had she said, then, that could have changed anything at all?

Hunt sighed. “We were talking about how you’re not my student anymore, and you asked me what you are to me.”

“I did,” she said. She remembered. His lack of response had been disappointing – though not unexpected. “You didn’t answer.”

He shook his head. “No, I didn’t, but I _did_ think about it. And the truth is, we’re not friends. And we don’t normally work together, and… you’re just a former student.”

“Just a former student,” she echoed, quietly. It shouldn’t have hurt, being the truth and all, but it did.

Hunt spoke again, then. “I realised that that isn’t what I want. You’re not supposed to be… someone I used to teach; a stranger. I want… I want…” He trailed off.

“What?” Danielle asked when it became clear that he wasn’t going to elaborate further. “What is it that you want, Hunt?” The sadness and hurt she’d felt just seconds ago faded into anger – why couldn’t he just tell her what he meant to say? – and she raised her voice. “It’s never going to be the same way it was back then, and it _shouldn’t_ be. I’m no longer a student – or _the_ student or whatever else you try to tell yourself to justify how you treated me – and you’re not, nor will you ever be again, my professor. So, tell me, _what do you want_?”

\---

Thomas didn’t have an answer to that. He wasn’t sure he even _knew_ just what he wanted, let alone knew how to tell her. What he did know, however, was that he didn’t want her to leave. And that had nothing to do with the box that sat just next to the fire pit and its contents that still needed to be disposed of. No, he wanted _her_ to be there, with him, and perhaps that would be answer enough.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, and he could tell that Danielle was about to say something again – likely tell him that that wasn’t what she wanted to hear – but he held up a hand to silence her. “All I know is that I don’t want to not have you in my life. I don’t want to not speak to you. Perhaps…” He took a deep breath. It wasn’t quite what he wanted, but it might be close enough for now. Until he knew – and could ask for – what he truly wanted. “Perhaps we _could_ be friends?”

Danielle regarded him for a long moment, then nodded. Thomas could tell it wasn’t what she’d wanted him to say, either, but she agreed nonetheless. “Yeah. Yeah, I think we could be friends.”


	16. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just friends, huh? Is that really what either of these two want? Guess we’ll see...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummm... oops? So, anyway, I’ve been gone for ages and didn’t remember where I was taking this fic at all so this chapter is hella short. As in, really, really short. Next one should be longer because now I kinda know where I wanna go with this. But... um... yeah, this one? Kinda sorta not the best. I’m just starting to get back into it, okay?

If it weren’t for the crackling of the fire right in front of them, Danielle was sure one could have heard her heart snap in two when she told Hunt that they could be friends. Of course, she shouldn’t have expected anything else. And, really, wasn’t that exactly what she’d wanted for years? For them to be friends?

She knew it wasn’t; she might have always known. But when Hunt had held her close and called her sweetheart in his kitchen earlier, her heart had fluttered and told her all she needed to know. It wasn’t his friendship that she wanted, but if that was all he was willing to give, she’d just have to take it. So she put on that smile that she hoped Hunt wouldn’t see right through it and decided that being his friend and hiding her feelings was a much better course of action than telling him what she really wanted and losing him for it.

Still, Danielle couldn’t bear sitting by the somewhat cosy fire with him for too long. So she left as soon as all the evidence of her past mistake had been thrown into the flames and she could be reasonably sure that it was no longer possible to use any of it against her. Not that she mistrusted Hunt so much—she didn’t—but she still felt safer knowing she hadn’t left any viable evidence behind.

* * *

He’d said something wrong. He knew it from the moment she had started smiling that despicable fake smile he’d seen far too often, and she’d all but confirmed it by leaving when the contents of the box had barely begun burning. Granted, Thomas could not have used any of it anymore even if he had wanted to—which he most certainly did not—but still, he found it quite strange that she would leave so soon. It had to have been something he’d said.

He was still sitting in his backyard, pondering where he had gone wrong, when the fire died down and the sun rose. Perhaps he’d misread her entirely. Perhaps she’d been quite content being nothing more than a former student, and he’d made her uncomfortable by suggesting they could be friends. It didn’t seem logical, considering their conversation back at the studio, or even the one they’d had right where Thomas still sat, but it was the most plausible possibility. Anything else, he didn’t dare consider.

Eventually, Thomas cleaned up the area around the fire pit and made his way back inside. The kitchen was still somewhat of a mess—Danielle hadn’t bothered to put away any of the ingredients nor utensils she had used to make him breakfast—so he had to clean that up, too, before he made himself a second breakfast at a much more reasonable time than the last one. Once he had eaten and taken another aspirin for his returning headache—though he was fairly sure this one had more to do with his overthinking than the hangover—he chanced a glance at the clock. And he promptly regretted it.

He was still the director of a film produced by Montmartre, still being blackmailed, and still expected to heed his worst enemy’s every command. He most certainly did not have time to dwell on the nature of his non-relationship with a former student when he had this enormous issue to take care of. Though, of course, said former student was quite involved with this issue, so it wasn’t like getting her out of his mind was an option. Especially not considering the fact that he would likely be seeing her again on set in just over an hour.

“Great,” Thomas murmured to himself as he made his way to the bathroom, knowing full well that he would not be able to make himself look anywhere near presentable after the night he’d had.


	17. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitches be back at work... how's that gonna work out?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI BITCHES, I TOLD Y'ALL I'M HERE TO STAY UWU

Danielle barely got any sleep before she had to be at the studio, but it wouldn’t have mattered, anyway—today would, without a doubt, be terrible. For one, she and Hunt were _friends_ now… except she had absolutely no idea how to handle that, and had run away pretty much the exact moment they’d officially become friends, which surely must have made Hunt not want to be friends with her at all. But now he’d already said it, and though he was known for being rude and an asshole sometimes, she doubted he’d take it back so soon, which meant he’d have to pretend to be her friend, which she once again wouldn’t be able to handle, and—

 _Don’t hyperventilate_ , she reminded herself. _Hunt is the least of your problems._

Right. Because there was the second thing that would make this day terrible—Danielle didn’t have a plan anymore. The last few days, she’d gone to work, knowing she had a way to get herself and Hunt and everybody else out of their contracts with Viktor. She’d been so sure she could do it—and she was still convinced it would have worked, though she knew Hunt had been right about it being wrong—but now she had failed, and there was no plan B. So today she was going to work, knowing that she would have to continue working for Viktor, and wear the stupid skimpy little outfits he insisted on no matter how many times Hunt spoke with the costume designers about changing them, and pretend that it was perfectly okay that they were being blackmailed with something that could easily destroy Hunt’s career.

 _That_ was the real problem. Her feelings about what happened—or rather didn’t happen—with Hunt last night were nothing in comparison. Though they certainly didn’t help. Especially considering that she’d have to work with him, too.

Luckily, she didn’t run into him at the front gate, nor on her way to make-up and wardrobe. At least that gave her _some_ time before she had to see him again. And, though she would never admit to this if asked, she may have been slightly more nit-picky about the fit of her costume or the accuracy of her make-up than usual—which, of course, had nothing to do with her wanting to put off being on set for as long as she possibly could. Because she didn’t want that, anyway! Not at all. Danielle was _excited_ to work with her _friend_. Yes. _So_ excited.

* * *

She was late. Not too long ago, Thomas wouldn’t have found this unusual in the least, but since he’d started working on this film, Danielle had almost always been on time—or early, even. But today she was late, and this confirmed his fears—she was uncomfortable with their new relationship. Or perhaps her anger about what he had done—or had intended to do, had her agent not intercepted—had returned. He had, after all, almost ruined her life, and she’d have had every right to be angry with him. Perhaps friendship was too much to ask for so soon after, and now he had ruined any chance he might have had of maintaining any relationship with her that was more than what they’d had before.

To his relief, Thomas didn’t get a chance to follow that train of thought, as Danielle finally stepped on set. Before he could scold her—friend or not, he didn’t tolerate lateness—she shushed him with a motion of her hand and said, “Sorry, there was a problem with the fit of the corset. Must have had too much for breakfast or something.”

Thomas somehow doubted this was the entire truth, but he decided to let it slide—just this once!—because she looked tired and sad, and maybe that tugged on his heartstrings just a little. “Very well. Let’s get started then, shall we?”

Danielle gave him a half-hearted smile and nodded, then made her way over to Chris, who had already taken his position the moment she had come in. Thomas was worried for a moment that whatever was on her mind would impact her acting, but he realised that he truly needn’t have. As soon as the cameras were rolling, Danielle was once again transformed into Maeve, doing a perfect job as always.

Despite everything that had happened last night, filming went a lot smoother than the day before. By the end of the day, they were almost back on schedule again. Which was a good thing, too, as Thomas realised when he took a look at his phone and saw an e-mail from Montmartre pop up.

_Don’t think I won’t be watching just because you’ll be out of the country. I have eyes and ears everywhere._

_—V.M._

Right. The trip to Scotland. The on-location shoots. God damnit.

“Yeah, I got the warning, too,” Danielle said sombrely as she came up behind him. “We’re getting tomorrow off to prepare for our flight on Sunday, right?”

He sighed, then turned to her and nodded. “I suppose I’ll need time to prepare and pack myself. I’ll be honest, this trip did slip my mind.”

“Mine too,” she said, biting her lip. “With everything going on, that was the last thing I was thinking about.”

Thomas didn’t know what to say to that. “Well, I suppose this means I’ll see you Sunday?”

She narrowed her eyes and let out a quiet huff, and he wasn’t quite sure what that meant. “Yeah. See you Sunday.”


End file.
